Witches are stupid
Poets kind of are like witches
We all stick to our covens
Our cauldrons
Our magic wand
But I couldn’t get down with witches
Back in Salem
When I was falling asleep in a crawlspace
PBR left out to warm
Ready to drink in the morning
Where I talked to the TV and
Branded myself blood brothers with Andrew
Where I left one morning
Nights and nights without sleeping
And decided to walk myself right into
A hospital
Salem rock city
That day after where we would walk to the park
With our guitars
and showcased new songs
At yellow dogged cafes
Where I would meet my friends and share songs
Oh how I loved them
I was sick then
And didn’t realize it
I’m sick now
But I deal with it
A lovely illness
Where unchecked you become
Solitarily confined to your own madness
I thought I would feel something up here
With all these wonderful poets
But I am not one of them
I write for life
Even in the mix of their cauldron
I still didn’t fit the mix
I always feel that my words are my life
And if I don’t share them with you
We will remain strangers
And within all these poetic parlor tricks
I am writing alone
On a park bench not a
Friend to share this with
I am alone
In my own ugliness.
On a beautiful day
I still feel sadness
It’s a lovely world
I’d rather be in this lonely
Wolf pack
Then a shadow beneath your feet
I’d rather be alone with my thoughts
Then the stars.
