How does god exist?
I created him
Every time I tweet, pound my fists at my desk, drown a kitten
practice my smile in the mirror,
Look for the sturdiest spot in my house
To tie a belt
What separates me from god? Pale blue eyes.
I exist. I cause pain.
God doesnʼt get hangovers.; doesnʼt forget to text his mom back
Iʼm inconsequential garbage (unintention0lly and chemically) stuck to the bottom
Of godʼs shoe*
Something that lingers
I linger on the thought this will be our year took a long time to come
Of what it would be without, well, you know..
*god does not have Good Taste because that is a human virtue. Product of a sinful nature.
The Garden
“Meet you in the garden in 10 minutes”
“What!? No!”
“I have work to do.”
“We have to make plans.” She says disgustedly as if I never take into account what needs to be done. What is happening. Anything that is going on is simply too much for me, the outlier artist with too much going on in his head to stay tethered to reality.
I sit in the garden, angrily lighting up a Marlboro, red. Not the American kind. The European kind. What I started with at 16. I canʼt even finish it all. Itʼs a different kind of smoke here. The garden is nice. Exquisite. calm. Iʼm the only one here. It’s quite and Iʼm not annoyed anymore. I never was, it was more of exasperated because I need to write.
The garden is serene, I feel comfortable and focused. A little heady from the cigarette. I need to cut that out.
I guess this is a journal entry. Poetry is too emotional. I only have one subject to write about and I cannot yet. It sits on my chest, heavy. I will ignore it for now.
Headed to Mykonos later, a 5 hour ferry. Nothing more Mediterranean than that.
I do not wish to die in the sea. That sounds slow and painful. I canʼt escape the idea though. Floating. Dramatically searching for buoyancy or an escape. - until my legs, my arms, my neck, all become too tired and I cannot float anymore. My skin becomes a sponge from absorbing all the Adriatic Sea water. Hearing everyone screaming around me. Whoever did not already drown. Slowly sinking down into the dark water. I assume I would last about 12 hours before I couldnʼt hold on any longer. Absolutely engulfed with fear because I do not like open, dark water where I cannot see the bottom. Slowly letting the water drink me up. Another casualty.
Meet me in the garden for a morose morning, My breakfast isnʼt here yet. Iʼm actually having a great morning I am just very dramatic. I am an outlier artist with too much going on in my head to stay tethered to reality.
Cheap Fabric
A fading stain on a cheap fabric
An agonizing amount of pseudo sensationalism
But I like it
Someone still playing CDs in the ride share
Please let me fade away
A homeschool homework assignment just doesn’t make sense
And an answer book tucked away where only I know
A comment is just a hello
To a poster who is rewinding serotonin