Literary Elitism

Who ever said poetry had to be literary?
Intellectual BS sprayed out on the unwitting masses,
Captured in propaganda drenched subliminal ice cream.

Freezer burn on the fruits of our labors
Judged by the people we love most in the world
Reducing us to mushy peas.

At least the British would still consume us.

Professors sit in the front rows of readings,
Agreeing with the in-between-the-lines hilarity
That only they understand.

Apparently the average person is immune to poetry,
Mushy peas and propagandist ice cream
Mean more to me than the average man.

I’m so full of shit.

Some of the most beautiful poetry I’ve ever heard
Only takes up one line;
The worst: many.

Everyone thinks they need to be sneaky
About making their point,
That dancing around the fire will please the poetry gods.

Why are we so afraid of frank?

You know what I say? (non-poetically?)
I want to affect change in a tangible way in the world.
I want to start a revolution.

I want equal rights for gays.
I want to reduce suffering in the world.
I want gender equality… it doesn’t scare me.

I want to be the spark that sets off the bomb.

But if you say bomb on the phone,
The NSA will crush the revolution;
They’ll extinguish all hope.

And a black man wont be president
And we’ll still have a two party system
And we’ll still find someone to hate.

God Bless America.

Poetry doesn’t have to be
Under the surface,
Worrying about where line breaks should go.

In fact, I dislike studying poetry.
But I love writing it,
And hope, sincerely, someone gets something from it.

Someday.

What's Written On My Heart

I feel like
Those three little
words mean so
much more when
you enumerate them.

"I love you."

Not "you too" or "ditto,"
but a commitment--
reaffirming over and over
You're mine and I'm yours.

Maybe you're not.
Maybe I'm not.

But God, Dear God, PLEASE
GOD
Let him be mine.

The relational limbo bar
Has been lowered by
The voodoo priestess, "Lust,"
Her cackling laughter signifies distrust on
Your perceptions of me
making you believe I'm
Incapable of doing this-
Making it work.

And it makes me so full
Of sorrow I could fill
A reservoir with tears,
Cry 'till my insides dried
Up and blew away like
Fall leaves Because

I'M SO GODDAMNED SCARED OF LOSING YOU.

I believe you capable,
Mature, and faithful
Enough to make this
Work; to give it one
Last stab before
The body politick of "us"
Is eternally, mortally
wounded.

Please,
Don't go.

I
Love
You.