With
a little bit
of boob
and
a little bit
of butt
girls become women
and
boys become men
until
children
make them
children again.
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Tag Archives: prose
Straight to the point.
Soak
your feet
for close to an hour
in hot water
then
peel back
the skin
flaking, like
skin does
dead
after soaking your foot
in hot water
close
to an hour,
then write that way.
Meaningless Color.
black
white
brown
yellow
red
Just colors
until,
we make them more.
Nothing ever is that cut and dry.
Take me with a grain of salt
then throw me over your shoulder.
It’s the only way I know,
self taught and still figuring it out.
Just a pinch is enough though.
Nobody wants high blood pressure.
Oh, but we’re all so practiced
in the art of innocence.
I hear you when you give thanks
but that doesn’t mean I believe you.
It doesn’t mean that I don’t too.
Nothing ever is that cut and dry.
Is it?
Now, this is the part
where you throw me over your shoulder.
A momentary peace.
Quietly
seated
at rest
with desire
though
still
desirous,
he knows
better
than to
chase
the wind.
No longer
a girl
not yet
a woman
she will
find
her way,
at rest
by the
phases
of
the moon.
Together
they
are bound
by
foolish
pride
in one another,
backstroking
in tune
to the
ever-changing
tide.
You can try but you just can’t fool kids.
You see,
the kid doesn’t forget.
Forgive, yes
but forget, never.
Kids don’t make the rules,
but they’re a product of them.
And no matter what you say
after the fact,
the fact,
is still a fact.
No matter how old you get,
respect isn’t due
remember,
it’s earned.
You see,
enforced respect holds no weight.
Power, yes
but honor, none.
Kids don’t make the rules,
but they abide.
They see,
and survive
no matter the so called times
that they’re raised in.
You can try, but
you just can’t fool kids.
No matter how old you get,
right is right
and wrong is wrong,
things never change.
Except for the kid,
you see.
A last glance upon leaving.
Once filled empty space
Packed boxes and scratched wood floor
Dust bunnies waiting
A Birthday Poem.
Twenty nine
years young
and the kid’s
still got it,
today is a good day
still breathing,
knocking on wood.
The words I’d say to an unborn son.
If you’re not ready to let go,
then don’t.
Hold on as long as you need,
and then some.
These are words I’d say,
to an unborn son.
If it seems repetitive,
that’s good.
If it hurts in a hundred different ways,
it’s supposed to.
If you don’t want to smile,
let them see you frown.
These are the words,
I’d say.
Does it get easier,
at times.
Should you forget,
never.
Is it your fault,
no.
The words I’d say are these.
Life will kick your ass.
Love will break your heart.
Death will drug your senses.
With the strength of a mother’s love,
I would say.
You are your father’s child,
but make no mistake,
you are not your father.
A funny conversation I had about work.
Do you do much marketing?
She asks.
I went to Art School, so…
So what?
They taught us how to feel,
not how to eat!
Words Of An Average White Male 