I write because I feel like I’ll vomit if I don’t
All those nasty and pretty and perverted things
I need to see them written out
For no other reason than to give myself a little
Peace of mind
Because when I see the words I write
I know I can communicate, at least a little
To see them there, my sweet pets
The little dead letters to which I brought to life in a
Horrific or hilarious or pointless
Symphony
God, the joy it gives me

Through these keys flow
Tiny tingly waves, like electricity
Blossoming into an entity of its own
Does each poem have a soul?
I look at the words and I see an extension of my own
My anger and disgust, my love for
A beautiful guy
The confusion I cradle in this
Ever-changing world
But yet it all stays the same
The writers before me
We’re all the same
We take off our metaphorical clothes for you
And stand
Naked
Humiliated
Scratching our heads, just kinda hoping
That you’ll understand
Or at least give us some scholarship money