So, I have this terrible habit where in the life that exists outside of these pages of nondescript childish ranting, I have trouble expressing myself. The daily world in which I live is hard to process. I ahve so many emotions and I find it hard to express myself. I don't know the right words, and my frontal quartex? (I don't know. How the hell am I supposed to know the regions of the brain? Who'd you think I am? A brain surgeon?!*) shuts down and I can't think of words, or even worse, proper facial expressions. Slap me in the face and tell me I should eat shit and more than likely I will say something like "Yeah, I know. Right?" and then smile and nod- all the while searching for approval in your eyes.
(* Obviously, I have don't have a major problem expressing frustration)
It's not that I agree with you. I just can be just a little slow when it comes to appropriate reactionary measures.
But, never fear! The emotions will, and do, catch up to me. Which is why everyone in a while- because even here I have trouble expressing my emotions, and can never just do so in a straight-forward manner, I write what I call "rage poetry" and what the editors of literary magazines have labeled "Unsolicited. Also, not very good"
So bare with me while I get things off my chest- while rhyming!- and SUPER FUN PLAY ALONG GAME and see if you can piece together events that have transpired this week!
To start things off let's start with a fun little ditty I've composed entitled:
That Dumb Bitch Who Talked to Me Yesterday
Dear Dumb Bitch, to which, yesterday I spoke.
You are rotten I hope you choke.
You teeth are yellow, your eyes are glassy
Just from the looks of you- you look gassy.
I sensed your presence before I "seened" you
It looks like ages since your handler cleaned you!
I don't give a shit about what you say
-that photocopy's $3.25- NOW PAY!
Haiku For The Asshole I Saw Run That Stop Sign
You go, but not stop
Douche-bagging through; no cares.
I followed you home.
Dear Kyle, From Mastercard
You say you only want to please me
then why do must you prod and tease me?
The charges on my card aren't real!
-if you cut me- do I not feel?
Stand with me- be on my side
I honestly have nothing to hide.
I swear- never- upon my genetic source
Have I paid to watch some intercourse!
That charge simply didn't come from me;
I watch all of my porn for free!
(Now, a little free verse for all the lovers out there..)
Containing nothing but warm stickiness.
How many feelings can you have?
Pleasure. Joy. Guilt.
Is it meant to be this way?
Explosions, and flavors amidst thick and humid air.
Clawing and biting at all you can.
The quick quivers of your tongue deliver results.
And then you wipe the residue from your skin.
Throw the spent husk into the bin.
You can go again. Just wait 3 minutes.
For more Popcorn.
ISN'T POETRY FUN?!?!??!