Is it the poetry?
because I've had poems on the tip of my tongue for days
and nothing lets me spit them out
pluralism
tips and tongues. Originally plural;
I screamed.
Thick, curling, black screams that echoed.
Coed echoes
getting past me thoughts
through my thoughts
heart caged in a bed of black lace
clinging to the back of my ribs
peeling close to my bare braced back
Interesting? Aren't we all
Here anyway
In college that picks us for our quirks
To get into a place where "brash" and "ambiguity"
Can come out even when Svedka and Sky and Patron and Miller
Wrap my hip bones seriously, somberly, soberly
I listen to enough hip-hop to fill
One day
and fifteen hours
and five minutes
and twenty seven seconds
And don't you just want me to give you a blow job?
I'M WEIRD
and I like that you like it
and I like my more than I like you that I like it ME LOOK AT ME
But wonder if anyone will really
GET me my reality
MEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEME.
Cause I'm so FUCKING HARD to GET.
Get it?
No comments:
Post a Comment