
The Night Cafe
there's a painting
by Vincent van Gogh
of a bar all in reds and yellows
a master work
before 90's hip hop could be blasted
into the eardrums of clientele
they say he painted his best work
in a psychiatric hospital
in two years
where he was self-admitted
just like in a dive bar
it's important to know
when you've had enough
and you need to decompress
inside what will be
infamous
First Impressions Count
“Howdy?”, “Hey?”, “Hello?”
Jesus, no, no, no!
Too youthful, too casual, too slow.
Is my hair alright?
Is my top too tight?
Check my teeth. Do my eyes mask fright?
Is the bus running late?
Do you think she’ll hate
My daft laugh and my clumsy gait?
“You I’m here to see?”
Christ, she’s talking to me.
Throat dries up, shuffle nervously.
“Will we take this booth?”
“Are you getting food?”
Am I chatting about what I should?
Am I chewing enough?
Or is this too much?
Should my eyes be on hers, further up?
I collapse in bed,
Breathe, pulse in my head.
Lie awake hating everything I said.
“So, how was last night?
Was your date alright?”
My friends crowd around, eyes bright.
Then I strangely find,
That to her I'd been blind.
Did I like her? Who knows? Never mind.
But That’s Life
You say to Lament or celebrate, but it's not one or the other. Existence is a cycle of Lamentations and celebrations.
it’s good for 2 hours
here’s a token
of appreciation
it’s good for 2
hours of radiation ablation.
your soul is poison
and your blood is cancer
you’re no hell of a ball
and the ugliest of dancers
I’m harsh and I’m sorry that
this is really the best you deserve
at least you got to meet me
that’s the most you’ll ever earn
Anger
anger
ignites
with
fire
what
the
flame
itself
would
rather
have
extinguished
-15 words needed
Outcast
it's funny
the stigma
around some
diseases
some inspire
sympathy
some will stay
family secrets
are you one
of those
people
who leaves
when it's
convenient
I’m
I’m a gingerbread woman
that is still raw
in the center
I’m the plants that
turn brown
even as they’re watered
I’m that plane that crashed
into a house
in San Diego county
and when I read this poem
at an open mic
I’m here
I’m trying
I’m more than
metaphors and analogies
Kitchen Utensils
what have you lost?
she asks
a typical
therapist question
let’s start with my self-respect
a blender and kitchen utensils
my ability to purchase firearms
a reliance on panic medication
and people I called friends
but that was just in my head
I don’t admit much
to paid professionals
because believe or not
there are wrong answers
to that question
Over Colorado
she said
I feel like
you just let
life happen
to you
so I
got on
a plane
and somewhere
over Colorado
I started talking
to someone
and realized
I could be anyone