You like THAT?

Its strange that people seem to like poems that the writer hates

or choose the the ten second sketch over what I labored to paint

You never cease to confuse me with the strangeness of your taste

So I’ll make sure to write some for both of us just in case.

-morty

Poetry Garden

I plant a poem every day

a small and shining seed

I let it grow in my little garden

and bloom into big dreams

I weave a world

of magic words

and water them with dew

I blow kisses and rhymes

to feed tiny lines

of poetry I’m writing for You.

You flew

You flew

It’s true 

You decided one day

That you would fly up to the sky one day

You stretched out your wings

and you jumped with all you might

and you flew

Its true

I know you’ll fly again tonight

can I write my way out?

Can I write my way out?

Can I write my way out will I discover something that will save me? Can I write my way out of it?

I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I DON’T KNOW

I don’t know about the future so stop asking me

all I know about the future is that we all die

I don’t know if I can make you proud I don’t know if I can live with myself I don’t know if I can write my way out of this.

I just know that there is something in me that needs to come out and if I can just write long enough I might trick myself into typing it.

I don’t know how to yank these things out of my brain and put them into comprehendible  language. 

How are other people so happy all the time? Why are my words not graceful? why are my sentences jumbled? 

If I write long enough I can get it out

I can write my way out of this.


Loss

Loss

People come and People go. 

But you never know when

and when they do you are never ready. 

Loss. I am losing track of the time. I am losing track of my losses of those who are gone. I am afraid because I know I am one of them.

How long will it take for the world to forget about me?

How long before all the evidence is eaten by decaying lapses in though?

How long before I am just a story that gets told every once in a while

and eventually not at all?

Is it normal to be haunted by the future?

I wake up and see my face and young skin.

My silly young skin.

an organic thing.

My eyes and my smile.

So malleable by time.

I can foresee the rot. 

My meat frame will collapse in on itself. My mushy little brain will start to tire. 

I will cease to be a concept and the leftovers will erode.

I am afraid to go.

You are Human

I’m a lady

a woman, a girl

a feminine, femaleish

being of sorts

I’m a person

I got a brain

and I don’t like

what you got to say

I think you’ve got nerve

treatin’ me like a steak

I think you are makin’

a heck of mistake

I love me some people

some humanoid types

What your doing dividing

all of us isn’t right

in case you ain’t noticed

we come in all kinds

different sexes and colors

for our hair skin and eyes.

so cut out that attitude

because you are human too.


-morty

sittin’ in a chair

sitting in a chair a little wooden horse

high polish and low tolerance for anyone over 500 pounds.

sitting on my chair and i’m writing poetry about the meaning of life 

because I’m so wise

and if you need help on the subject you can just come hollering my way

I’m sitting on my chair because I don’t know what to write

about the meaning of life

and I guess I’m not such an expert after all

I’m sitting on my chair sobbing into giant bag of cookies 

because I’m just a tiny speck 

in the giant universe

and I cant write anything good today

I’m sitting on my chair

and it breaks.

Anvils

Too fast its all too fast i am writing this too fast i have no time for proper capitalization.

i am losing track of things. losing notches to grip onto and memories to stuff into my mouth and swallow. there are people running up the stairs and i need to jump

its coming down like rain

like fire

like cartoon anvils and i’m wily coyote: fast but not fast enough.

Idolatry

Scream your religion for me

Save me from your fear

Scream for me and your voice

may weave some power in the air

like myth or magic

Pray for the sinner

Who sins your manufactured sins

Pray for my power

my power

Pray to me

Weary

Weary as the oldest soul

lead drags on my limbs

time dries me of its toll

Hours ache inside my spine

The withered shell 

of what was mine

stone bled dry

my colors cry

My grave waits grey 

I wait inside.