The Homeless

It seems like there is more of them

and they are getting younger

they need rooms and phone calls

and their cloths are bad and they smell bad

why so many homeless?

I do not know

but I do that I could easily be one of them

their tribe is rarely spoken to

the other classes want to pretend that

the do not exist

and I think about beggars and billionaires

and everyone else

shit isn’t fair i say

and my mind and ego says, “it is not supposed to be.”

The Mountain

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i guess most of us dream of the mountain

that perfect mountain we can go to

to get away from the madness of life

the society

the job  the traffic  the roads

the cars

the noise,

and all that anxiety

and most of us do not have ourselves

for some their is a need to get that

their center, their soul

and all that which is not me

can all fall away

 

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