Talk Shit Poetry

broken yoke, pain on drugs
broken life, brain fucks and passive hugs

let me lie your love for me

let us dance beneath the fire

the Devil cowers in awe

what was a joke, isn't a joke at all


if i could find the fucking half empty glass,
i'd fill it up.

but my life ran away while in a nightmare about me


looking at the clouds just then

i thought i saw God

he looked friendly, friendly he did

i can't count no more, i can't relapse to human form anymore

somehow i've got to fit

got to make the mold

make the cast out of the broken shell


watch the mascots sing and dance

the clowns crying; they've lost their masks


and if i could dance for you i swear i would

but that nameless feeling stole my outfit


caught in a whisper floating through the city's neon drunken blur

i fly to where there is an absence of beauty


... painting the flowers with blood from my imaginary wrists



i can't feel numb, i can't feel alive

go to the past now child, and find me in the belt buckle of the car crash

in the bums bottle of booze

in the addicts needle

in the gamblers chips

in the murderers knife

i'll smile the secrets of life for you on my deathbed

but don't get stuck looking for the lost.

you can't understand this now. don't worry about that. just remember this.

someday, you'll look down at the gun in your hands, you'll look around and

see some of the other children looking at their guns.

some of them will be walking home.

some of them will be crying; some out of sadness, some out joy.

and you'll realize, it's time to end the war.

your kings and queens have given up.

the children grown up now, just ordinary citizens.

no point in another soul getting lost on this
path; right or wrong.

you probably wont know what to do at this point.

just breath. breath for a moment, thank whatever gods you believe
in that you made it out alive,

then go home and read a book to your children.

-Nick

(i had to edit this, too many typos) (talk shit poetry only, no poets society here, 'for
this is the grit, the grime. this is where we play, this is where we spar. this is
where we learn.)
my dedication to the street gangster, the thug, the hustler.
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stupid fucking heirachy's...... the way the world is set up, you *NEVER* had a chance.
the problem is; you still don't. and it's not even your fault. white america is so
obsessed with "Gangs" being black thing, or a culturally biased thing; that they
fail to realize that garden in their backyard where the swings swing back and forth
and turn a baby, into them, well, it turns of them into a baby of you too.

devide and conquer?

FUCK YOU!

devide and let live; with freedom of speech, freedom of expresion, the right to go
to school in a safe area; EVEN IF IT MEANS THOSE CHILDREN NEED TO BE WALKED TO SCHOOL
IN INVISIBLE AMOUR OF RED OR BLUE OR GOLD, to make it through no mans land.




so what if they got a 6 or 5 tatted on them? goverment don't care. "hell, they'll end
up in jail or dead anyway, less mouths to feed"


what the fuck does the goverment do when those bottom feeders are raising it's children
better than the government can?

the choice is yours.


but i will say this, if you don't see it; WE WILL MAKE IT CLEAR TO YOU

When i'm drunk
I am so loony,
When i'm not
I am too moony.

Ride with me, girl,
On my pony
To the dreamland.
Me so horny!

links because there are alot and spam is probably a no

"sarah"
-something to do with the bible and religion historeligious and also alternate dimensional time universes

"i wait for it"
-i think it's about greek mythology and like neo from the matrix in slow-motion dodging bullets or something

"the rains"
-a poem about my childhood and my schizophrenic uncle i never met and my grandmother and trains

"regarding"
-poem about getting a t-shirt that says i survived a lumbar puncture (hipster warning)

"the two cities"
-poem about war

"divers"
-cthulhu and allen ginsberg had a baby and the baby shat out this

"i am all things"
-poem about being small

"making poets proud"
-i attempt to make a joke and then talk about serious business

"speech output chamber"
-being on stage

"go now you are forgiven"
-maudlin drunks & the general

there are children playing in the fields

at night, they come out of the fields into the
niegbhorhoods, towns and cities around the
world.

the darkness is their friend.

during the day though, the fields
are living hell. battlefields of the mind games.
friends raping friends of their thoughts so
that they may sell those secrets to other
the friends enemies.

swapping a murder for two rapes
a theft of belongings for 5 lies

lives traded amongst each other as if their
souls are stocks

they want to come out during the day, but it's too
bright to see. people can't seem to see them during
the day, so nobody is able to lead them out of the
fields.

at night, all is forgiven though because the darkness
does not judge them as it shelters them from the
eyes of the blind people.

they get to laugh again. laugh. smile;

because the child is shrouded in darkness not capable
of seeing it doesn't exist.

He asked me to hold his hand. So I took it. I held hands with the little Indian boy ive known sence forever and we walked out of the woods hand in hand. We watched the stars for an hour, I was told. But there were no stars, I was told. So what were we watching then? Our images burned deep into the skies?   He holds magic inside his dark brown eyes.  He takes his anger and bleeds it into his aura at midnite. ½ wine crystals, he moves as the leaves and I move as the Earth breathes. Our hearts beat in wild horses. Heads touching in the grass, side by side we make wishes on the reflections of our iris; winged moths to the moon.

Midnite, a knock at my door. Its him, dressed in his brothers sweater. I invite him in and teach him how to kiss. Hes too eager. We watch tv shows that kids watch and he leaves. He gives me the middle finger at school the next day.

We meet in the cemetery. Its down the road from my house, and close to his. We sit between gravestones and fold our legs beneath us. The wind whips the autumn leaves and curls the hair around my face. I take out a plastic baggie from my shirt pocket and pack a glass pipe full of marijuana. We smoke it all. There are no words. Its just dark dark dark.

“you have to pretend youre cooler than everybody else,” he kept his hand on the wheel. I was in need of advice and he found me walking down the main street. I was on too many drugs and in my first abusive relationship.   “remember when you told me, you think everyone is god?”

I came home from work to a kitchen full of kids ripping lines of speed off my old stove. They were skipping school again. I ripped lines with them, but no one told me it was the kind of ridilin that’s coated with something so kids wont snort it up their noses. I was speeding hard into the night. There was a group of us downtown, like always, and I thought they knew all my secrets, and were going to kill me. I hallucinated them, one by one, putting their arms behind their backs, turning around, and opening their hands to show me they didn’t have the gun. I stayed up all nite and in the morning, with snot pouring down my face, ran to his house and asked him for bread. I just ate the middles, refused to eat the crusts because they were powdered. “im not poisoning you,” he said.

When we were fourteen, maybe fifteen, we stood in this girls backyard. Us girls took turns complementing him, telling him how cute he was. He kissed me. A mouth full of braces. I don’t remember if he kissed the other girls. I don’t know if he remembers at all.

I transferred schools halfway through eighth grade. He sat in front of me in general math. He wore an Independent skate brand hoodie with his named decaled down one sleeve. He tore most of the letters off to spell the word ‘ASS’. He broke his braces everyday with his tounge and never washed his hair. I stared at the back of his head, crusty from old hair gel.

if i threw in the towel from taking an ass wooping so bad
i'd consider myself to have won, even though i lsot, and not
simply because i tried but i tried to make it through another
battle and came out victorious with more knowledge than i'd
previously had before being more equipped to gain even more
knowledge from a stronger opponent in my next fight.

what am i without the wieght of the world on my shoulders
as i pace through my kitchen crying about the distorted reality
i saw on from the textual voice of the girl i met just a few
hours ago and how she'll never have the life i've lived, though
she too will have the wieght of the world on her shoulders some
day making her just as beutiful and unique as ever single other
person on earth

and while every single invidiual snowflake in this snowstorm we
call life is beutiful even when a dog pisses on us and turns us
yellow when we clump together and start judging one another for
our own selfish reasons, we must always remember that we all came
from the sky falling down like tiny little shooting stars from God
fittting uniquely into piles and drifts with a purpose

judge a book by it's cover everytime you see one of these snowflakes
but always make sure to not let it sit on your tongue to long or you could
accidently make it melt into you transforming two individual things
into love

......

happy easter

this was an attempt at a new type of poetry, like,
a "coded" poem. one meant to not just be read, but
examined the way people study classic chess games

an equation in poetry laced with variables.

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trapped out of a prison S hell
where know bodIS two blame four my shame

free in side-Self -less- game
never to no one's three-is 2 many side

lost found down in an upsided frown
where Me fakes what We likes

freedom darkened by your| self+inflcted | su-I-side