Pizzaiolo, social worker, brewer, writer
It requires bravery Certainty and a real song to sing To say, shout what you’re thinking Does it mean anything? I’m tired of being told to shut up
By Jack Friendabout a year ago in Poets
My life is written by a bad poet There’s no rhythm, failed attempts at beauty Nothing to admire, plenty to abscond Limp life hangs
Life’s highs and lows I get that Sometimes You have to be sad And believe it or not Sadness is more important Than happiness
You were sorta sweet but you were the worst candy Your licorice fire Burnt horehound Your rusted bells and whistles Not asking more extra
You aren’t the real thing An approximation Noting my quirks I desire flesh, suffering I want a girl as deep in bloody mud
Kisses goodnight Became kisses good morning Euphoria, my glory Lies on her side A hourglass silhouette So that time doesn’t pass
You cried helplessly But you said you were okay You pounded your fists But you said you weren’t angry I offered to talk
We find beauty, writers Sniff it out, dumbed by our own words Loudest symphony in bourbon burps And justifying misspellings
Sky flaming mountainside They say it’s just like love Chilly kiss from a lover’s lips Still cold from her icy drink. Swaddling the little ones in towels
You can conquer life’s evil Provide for your family Revel in the bounty of life Face childhood demons Slay them mercilessly
I’m staggering, damned Mawkish debasement From a man, half kid Flirt with dizziness My awful new friend Dare show the folly
Buried our hearts On a land that wasn’t ours Red soil and unforgiving boil Barely covered up. Where our smiles died Carelessly laid to rest
