I’ll try again,


lacking consistency.


don’t even know


I am writing about;




a pretty weird meter


knowing myself


probl’y start to break out


sue-une? so on.

I want to let it all out.

Man, I can complain about anything.
Counting syllables again,

albiet actu’ly accidentally.
Maybe I’m fudging some lines.

Im only looking

                             for a distraction.
It’s 5:30 A.M. and I

can’t fucking sleep. Syllables over sheep.

I should probably write right now

There’s a whole lot of emotion

I guess that’s to be expected

when you move

from the gulf

to the pacific ocean

My phone’s not letting me space right

and every thing feels wrong

but it’s easier

to catch lightning

In the middle of a thunderstorm

Everyone says it must be great

but they don’t want to move to California

They want to talk about moving to California

The weather’s the same every fucking day

so slightly too cold with too much wind

I can complain about anything

Just ask me

Its easy:

Get angry,

Get sad,

Write lines.




I think if life were an RPG
I would have made a new character by now.

I thought I was specing in the right things,
but it doesn’t seem to be working out.

I’ve spread myself to thin
now I can’t do anything well.

I could have min/maxed a bit better
I want to try something else.

Maybe a few less points in INT
and a few more in Stability.

A few more points in Science
and a few less in Poetry?

It would probably save a few people
from rolling eyes at this mediocrity.

Just tell me what a reroll costs
and this all can stop existing.

Word by word.
Wondering what
to make
of what
I make
these days.

Seems at least
my second-
syllable phase
is more organized,
at least
better received than my first.
(Granted, the first was
basically received solely by me.
Let’s hope this doesn’t reflect on society.
for more
than a tweet?)

instead let’s just believe
I’ve figured out something
since I was seventeen.

Plus, it keeps the
rust off; it’s a
positive outlet
for O.C.D.


Kids these days… all about them damn inclined planes wrapped around those god forsaken cylinders

Drinking diet coke,
Reposting old poems.

Best part about new audiences:
they don’t really know.

I digress,
Still don’t really get WordPress.
The reader’s a bit different.
Does this mean I’m old yet?

I think I’m okay,
I mean I still use SnapChat,
but I don’t get Insta or Twitter.


Not quite old.
Not quite youthful.
Still drinking weekdays
still trying stay useful,

but persistent underemployment,
mixed with chronic under-motivation,
has me basically accepting my station.

Indeed’s a time hole,
YouTube is too,
but one makes me feel
I have something to do.

Spent like five years
tying be made into a hammer.
Told last minute no nails.
–I’m screwed.