a desperate act for the approval of strangers

 

it’s a blank page

 

words flying by

at a million miles

per hour

 

the average person

can’t do this shit

 

you then think of

all the bad poetry

out there

 

the average people

are doing it

 

you are not special

 

you were not blessed

with any rare talent

 

it’s all a trick

 

smoke and mirrors

 

that’s why you can’t

make enough to call

it a profession

 

it’s a hobby

 

a desperate act for the

approval of strangers

 

a lonely voice in a

hallway with no echo

 

an old dirt road where

all the old poets go

to die

 

look at the scars

and know it’s time

——————————————————————–

 

even you deserve to be loved

 

sometimes it’s catharsis

and sometimes it’s just

a good shit that removes

everything but the brain

 

a passing thunderstorm

and the bold belief that

even you deserve to

be loved

 

your father never had

the time to teach you

about fools, dreamers

and the need for a few

dark souls to dig ditches

and graves

 

all the young girls in the

houses around here are

growing up so fast

 

you’ll probably be in a

different world by the

time they start exploring

the dirty parts of their

souls

 

it’s a faint taste of blood

 

it’s another shooting on

the west side of town

 

all the old lovers have

moved on years ago

 

one of these days

 

you might get around

to it