To the coffee shop owners whose coffee is alright at first and then they wonder why their business fails, their business fails because they don’t want to take peoples order, they get pissed off when the line is longer than 3 people, they don’t like the gift cards they sell, they want cold hard cash, they hire 12 year olds who only care about weed, they shut down, they start back up, they move to the other side of town, they fuck up
To the hair cutters in salons who cut hair alright at first and then they started going praying mantis on you, cutting too close to the head, cutting too short or not cutting enough, charging extra, not bothering to wash your hair first, melting your ears off with the blow dryer, buttoning the sheet too close around your neck so by the end of your visit you haven’t breathed and you’re dizzy and stray hairs are still in your eyes and you’re sent to the counter to pay before you even glanced at your head
To my third grade secret actor romance, true as love is true
Pouring wet dreams into my too tight tennis shoe
Shoe carnival, what the fuck
Walmart, what the fuck
When the lizards take their pills
Tasting cement on the windowsills
You know the drills
Fucking three blade wind mills
To the self-claimed rappers
To the cell phone tappers
To the masturbators
To the French fried potators
To the experimental
To the fucking mental
To the weak, the strong, the weird
To the fecal matter, smeared
To the awesome movie dialogues
To the beer, pong, sex hogs
To the girls in movies who look peaceful while taking showers with smiling faces and embracing their
bodies while the real girl probably scrunches her eyes because her water pressure could cause welts if you stay in longer than 10 minutes and it’s not a harmonious experience at all
To the people in movies who talk quietly in bars like their having a conversation at a café rather than a techno, beat boxing, sound thudding claustrophobic space in which you couldn’t hear if someone cried rape or fire
To the people who talk way to fucking fast
To the people who talk about themselves
To the people who talk about their opinions
To the people who talk
To Dane Cook’s sexist, mental facebook statuses I never want to read but I end up doing so anyway
To the people who should keep their eyes on the road, but they watch you in their rear views, they ride your ass and as you’re turning you see their face turned 90 degrees for what? To see who it was? Do you recognize me because I certainly do not recognize you unless it was in another life when we were both cats
America the ice has fallen on your faces!
America you’re taking us to horrible places!
America! There’s stains on your pits!
America show us your tits!
Where Are you there god its me Margaret was banned!
Go home, Channing Tatum, you don’t understand!
David!!! Help me, I’ve lost my son at a garage sale!
Don’t call me anything. My body is woman but I feel like a male!
Get your freak on!
Talk to me like you’d talk to the dead air in a recording studio
Talk to me talk to me talk to me when you’re in the moodio
This poem is Fowl
Give me a howl
Am I hear
My boobs look the same, every year
Give me a sign!
Drop your eyes on the pine
Covered in wine
Sleeping with swine
“Kissing in the dark”
Echoes through Kroger, a hark
Harold angel sing?
I never know the words. Bring,
You’re hearts next time I see you
I know they’re small and blue
Just like your penis
That was the rat in The Secret of Nyhm
I’ve lost too many secrets, to Bob and Tim
Bob and tim don’t exist for anyone else other than me
They’re the old men who dwell in my house, outside in the tree
Laughing at everything I say
This house is bugged, today