She Called Me Sensitive

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After we did our thing, in the bedroom

I am usually rough, nasty and freaky

But after…

I can be lil sensitive, a nice guy

and she looks at me, reading my soul

“back to Mr. Sensitive.”

it caught me by surprise

What can I say to that?

Deny it?

lol

it’s the truth

and I knew she liked her dudes tough

and street, or they pretended to be that way

and i was none of that, but was proud

to  be able to read her as she was able to

read me

Insult Me

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This dude worked for Boeing and was an engineer or something

and he bought me drinks and played video games at bar, we

were bar buddies, not too many people liked him.  And we were

both outsiders at the bar.  I remember him saying, “you know my job

is hiring Damion, we could always use another janitor.”   As if that would

be the only thing i would be qualified to be.  I thought it was funny and

interesting if he intended it to be an insult.  And deep down it was.  Something

was going on in his life to insult me.   And even though he worked for Boeing and

made a shit load of money he was not happy.  un happier than the shipping clerk

he wanted to insult, interestingly enough

Don’t Take Me Serious

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I write a lot of depressing shit

and that is not always me, I do laugh

I do change, just don’t take the depressing

stuff so serious, I’m not that way all the time

I’m not here to preach the gospel of sadness and depression

even when I feel that way

I look over some of the shit I write

I’m like what? I wrote that depressing shit?

I mean, it musta been on my mind at the time,

my emotions, my soul

im not here to preach depression,

but if you happened to relate to some

of the stuff that I write,

then I did my job, and I wish you and my poems

could have been a lot happier, than they were

that is all

She built…

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a prison for herself

she seems free, she has her chores,

her duties, but she built a prison

for herself, she can’t see it

it’s there in her home,

she constantly cleans, sweeps,

mops the floor cleans the toilet,

she has jailed herself, and she

is free to watch her television

she knows every sound of the house

of every inch, the walls fall upon her

she built a prison for herself

and often, she hates that

perhaps I’m being unfair, which i shouldn’t

we build prison for ourselves,

i have probably built one for myself

Only i can not see it from my point of view

yet

 

 

Brain like Peebles

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The many thoughts on them

How many things can you Google?

the myriad of things that you can and will forget?

I feel as if there’s more energy in my brain than others

I could be wrong:  it all goes towards me…careers,  money,

education, meditation, yoga, Osho, massage, women, the strangeness,

of energy, the bar, what will i do after work? what about this weekend?

all the people i have as friends on my Facebook page, hypnosis, what

do I really what do with my life?, changing the routine, potential mates,

artificial intelligence, how would you find meaning, moving the body, digestion

it all rains on the mind at once.  You become addicted to your thoughts

one after another, this moment

Instagram

 

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I follow more than they follow me

I’m not bothered by it, I try to drop this ego

which is a difficult thing to do, its easy to think

that world is Maya, because of the clever

injustice of the whole thing, games and

forever seeking out purity, and authenticity

but that is rarely in sight

I would rather follow others, other people

can be so interesting, if you let them of course

more interesting than yourself,

if you could drop your fucking EGO