i love facemasks.

not just because they hide my face

but also because they hide the ceaseless movement of my lips,

the constant chatter

that i must fill myself with

in order to feel

a little less alone.

and i find myself talking

all the time

from the shower to the drive thru line

and sometimes i'm loud and sometimes i'm quiet,

sometimes i'm excited and sometimes hopeless,

but one thing always stays the same:

i've always

got something

to say.

People hear I’m a poet,

they see my glasses,

turtleneck sweaters,

they think I’m a major dork

and a pussy.

So I get their attention,

look them in the eye,

and say

I’m a badass motherfucker.

I’m the one your momma warned you about

when she said stay away from criminals,

vagrants and vagabonds,

strangers who offer you candy,

drugs, sex, and rock and roll.

I’m Charles Bukowski, Henry Rollins,

and Snoop Dogg all rolled into one

big fat spliff

and shoved straight up your ass.

I’m bar fights and handguns,

running from the cops

with hands full of outlaw poetry,

ready to fling words off the stage

like thunder and lightning,

fires blazing straight into your soul.

I’ll bend you over

and fuck you so hard

with allusions and metaphors

your eyeballs fly out the front of your face.

Yeah, I’m a badass motherfucker,

an outlaw poet,

a middle finger

shoved straight up the ass of conformity.