Tag Archives: HurtsToPost

Me, ranting opinions on my opinions

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Ehhh, I don’t even think this counts as a poem. It’s just me venting again. It hurts to post! I should have a “hurts to post” category.

 

 

 

 

My own personality exhausts me.

I’ve had it up to here with myself.

I know all my tricks.

How can anyone give a shit what I’m saying?

Maybe I’m trying too hard.

No, that’s not right

Maybe I’m retrospecting too hard.

Blah blah blah all I have to offer are opinions

Ten day sale only! SO CHEAP SO FREE

If that doesn’t make you want them then try this on for size

Free baseball cap with my face stamped on it

Free t shirts also with my face

This one is of my cats, got a lot of merch related to that.

Merchandise. Mercenary. Merch. Merc.

Buy my shit

Take my shit free

What I’m selling

Is charisma

Long lasting brand

It’s guaranteed to smell up your living room

For a full six hours.

 

Haha… I have a Boring Complex

Is this why I write?

No… when I don’t write, this is the reason why

Because of my Boring Complex

This is why I write when I’m alone

This is why it’s hard to share my stuff

And the funny thing is I know I’m not boring

I’m super weird

But I still have this fear

Just like I know that the harness will catch my fall

But I’m still afraid to rock climb too high.

Phobias

Phobias are stupid.

There are so many things in life

Which are stupid.

 

I think I wore myself out yesterday trying to impress

I had my good poem posted and reposted and complimented and discussed

I was on my best behavior

I can be really good when I need to

But OH MY GOD I’m exhausted

New people, compliments, this and that

Let me put on my big fake face and say how I love their compliments

But I don’t love compliments

I am too crazy for that

I love them as people for making the compliments

I love their sweet intentions

I love that the poem touched them

But noooo compliments make me crazy

See? Look at me right now. Crazy.

 

I decided when I started this blog to be brutally honest

To practice who I am

My writer side which I always hid

My emotional side which frightens and confuses me

My opinionated side which risks being wrong

All the gooey parts.

 

So I got a few new followers

They’ve seen my magnum opus to date

I WILL disappoint

But if I’m not allowed to be a hack

The writing won’t be fun anymore.

 

Oh god I’m gonna make myself post this aren’t I.

Well, new followers. Consider yourself warned. Hopefully you enjoy the smell

 

 

 

Another Successful Day

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I was kind of torn whether to post this whole thing or just the best sections of it. Usually I just post the best section(s) when I end up free-associating a mess like this. But I think it’s entertaining as a whole, maybe you will too. At the very least you can get a sense of my poetry process… or lack thereof.

And yes, I was feeling extra crazy yesterday. Gaze upon what low blood sugar has wrought.

 

And so it goes

And so it grows

Another day

Another flaw exposed.

And everyone

Is digging in their toes

They don’t get

That shit just overflows.

 

Put a bird on it.

Fffuuucckk

I’m writing this bit for me

I’m writing that bit for him

And this one for her.

And who the fuck are you?

Well

Have a little piece of my soul

I’m not using it anyway.

 

Why does the devil want souls

I think he’s in some kind of an arms race against god.

Once he gets more souls than god

he can begin the war?

Well maybe it’s his pride

maybe this is all about

His stupid ego

Like he wants a bigger business than god

But surely his business is bigger

Everyone says it is

But fuck that

What do they know

They want to think themselves the persecuted few.

 

I don’t want it

I don’t want it.

Take it back with you

I don’t want it.

Give it to your wife

You crazy sick bastard

Tell her it’s from me

Tell her I said

I think she’s pitiful

And I pity her

For being with you

And drowning in a pool of lies

She doesn’t even know she’s dying.

Like a frog in a slow boil.

 

People hurt

People steal

People love

People heal

People kill

People die

People always

Wonder why

People win

People lose

People live

What they choose

People give

People take

People bend

People break.

 

You are different.

You can see.

You are not like others be.

You don’t struggle as they do.

They don’t seem to have a clue.

You are far removed and free

You are pure and

Okay you’re just a fucking sex addict, who are you kidding.

 

Give us a kiss.

Give us another.

Give us three.

Kiss deeper.

Deeper.

Let us tongue you.

Let us inside.

Let us inside you.

We want what’s best.

We care.

Let us take care of you.

Give us a kiss.

 

How to just not.

Here’s how:

…..

Mostly that.

Also if you want to join the revolution

Don’t forget to pack the sandwich I made you dear

And be back before the street lights turn on!

I don’t want you getting a cold

Have a nice time.

Shoot someone for me!

 

And so passes

Another successful day

I didn’t kill myself.

I got some work done.

I made bread

It turned out better than I’m used to

And I didn’t kill myself.

I snuggled the cats

I didn’t kill myself.

I drank some tea

I got ice cream with Hannah

Two flavors!

I thought about something stupid I said eight years ago

And I didn’t kill myself.

The weather was really lovely too, all day.

A Quick Death

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This is the only thing I wrote this weekend. Add it to the list of things I didn’t want to post. I don’t know why!

 

 

“I don’t want to,” he said.

“Do it,” she said. “You’ve got to get over your fears.”

He was trembling.

“Cast it at that woman over there.”

“But she hasn’t–”

“Do it! Prove you’re a man.”

The woman was reading a book in an isolated section of the great library. She was well dressed, wore glasses, had her hair pinned back in a clean bun. She had gotten caught up in a book and was standing up reading it. She looked nice.

The boy pointed his finger lamely in her direction. A gust of wind blew past her and she leaned into it, unconsciously enjoying the breeze.

Teacher glared down at him. “I am disappointed in you,” she said. “Now you’re going to have to watch her receive a worse death at my hands. This is your punishment.”

“Oh, please no,” the boy said.

She opened a chasm beneath the woman’s feet, and the woman dropped. She was too surprised to even scream. Nobody saw it happen. The chasm closed up just as quickly as it had appeared. Had she broken a leg in the drop?

“Come on,” his teacher said. “We’ve got work to do down there.”

Her own warm hand took his, gently. They phased to the dungeon at the bottom of the chasm.

“I’ll give you one more chance to try it yourself,” she said.

The girl was panting, sitting up on the floor in an uneventful position, one leg drawn up toward herself. She couldn’t see in the dark, but she could hear voices. She had been hurt in the drop after all, though the boy couldn’t tell where.

He had to do it. He had to be quick and merciful. Or else Teacher… who knows what she would do to the girl to prove her point and punish him.

A quick, merciful death. He took a deep breath. Sharp and quick, like a band aid. He moved his whole hand in a crisp motion, with assurance.

The girl’s head detached cleanly. It fell to her side. The body fell forward onto her knees and remained propped upright.

“Good,” Teacher said. “This is what it means to be a Reaper. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded, tears in his eyes.

“You gave her a good death,” Teacher said. “You’ve got to be proud. This is the best we can do for them.”

Better Days

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I don’t have any writing to post today. I wrote a short short story, but it stunk. Now I’m rewriting it slightly longer, and it’s taking an actual time investment. You guys should be proud of me, putting in effort. I’m so damn lazy.

This was my only creative effort worth posting. Since this meets my quality standards, you’ll believe me when I tell you the story I wrote was bad.

…

Oh my gosh, I just spent hours learning how to use apps and enduring all manner of technical difficulties for this video. The truly lazy understand that two hours of tech navigation is easier than taking five minutes to rerecord something. I could have written an enjoyable story or poem in all that time…

…but you’re still stuck with the stupid cat song.

 

The DL on Chai

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I wasn’t happy with what I wrote yesterday, but it’s my policy to post things anyway, even if it takes me a day to get over myself enough to post them.

The last couple of days I’ve been trying to make stories that are 100 words or less. There are some really gorgeous ones online but last night I only managed this:

***

“Recognize this?” She said, leaning gently against the counter. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. In marker on the corner were the initials, “DL.”

“Where did you get that?” I asked.

“From the garbage,” she replied. “Next to a spoon, a light, a needle, some porn.”

“Sounds like the motherfucker has found Jesus,” I said bitterly.

“His loss is our gain, DL.”

“I give up,” I said. “Hand me that needle and I’ll wash it.”
***

I also wrote a bunch of bad poetry. This was the best of it.

***

 

Chai tea

Is a redundant phrase

Chai means tea

So chai tea

Means tea tea

Why do the Indians have such a bounty of spices

The rest of the world once used their spices as currency

Fought wars for access to these rich flavors

While in India a cup of tea is not a cup of tea

Unless you’ve casually tossed in a handful of ancient gold.

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