Comma, Dash, oh No....

theres this thing in me
growing and manifesting
drying out with the sun
and growing with the early morning chill
theres this thing in me that never smokes
never drinks or dies
the thing that lets me make the right choices
know when to try
when to walk
and most importantly
when to say
"fuck it, lets do the thing"
theres this thing in me
that pisses on everyone
in my head
the thing that doesn't want to come out
because this world has too many assholes already
you don't need another one
a decision is made even before
i make a move
theres this thing in me that doesn't let me be me
a thing that taste like victory
every time i bring a different girl a flower
every time i cook a different girl good food
every time i do something for someone
not even half worth it
theres this thing in me that will make me happy alone
but never find happiness in someone else
and thats sad
but in this all
you spend most of your time alone
someitmes with a passenger in the car i don't speak
not because i have nothing to say
but because i have nothing to say
to you
right now
none of this is based on hate
but all based on comfort
i feel good in here
and i don't need unoriginal macho energy
i don't need a fashion sense
i don't need to be something in the scene
because i am real here
honest and true
but none of you want that
you ask for it
but want blood!
you all want fucking blood!
i can give it to you
but who wants to live in misery their whole lives?
not me
maybe you?
and that's whats really sad
even beyond my wall

Scheduled Outage at 2am

why i like bukowski.

i don't like him because he says cunt
or shit, pussy, dick and hard on
i don't like him because he's "nasty", "raunchy" or
"different"
listen to the man
maybe,
once,
he was just a guy
who could see through the shit of all this
and laugh
he thought maybe if he stuck
to what he knew was right,
he'd win
he was probably a nice guy young
traveled the land
made some bar friends
hung around,
saw it all,
and never tasted victory
so he dropped it all one day
in a bar
"that looks like a nice bar to take a shit in"
the man never came out the same
so he became what you all wanted to hear
"shit with a hard on, you dirty cunt"
half the time he meant it
the other half, he laughed at himself
for he became what he never wanted
even when he sold out
he bought in
why i like bukowski?
his poems of love
bluebird
his description of simple events
shared with emptiness
finding happiness in small affordable
even free things
the man was persistent
fair
and above else
honest
that's more than i can say for all of us
so in the end,
maybe he was a drunk, stupid old man
but he never took a shit on anyone
who didn't deserve it