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Martha Stewart recommendations

Fuck therapy
Get a dog
Fuck meds
Exercise
And please please please

Rip the beating heart
Out of the Buddha
Who stands before you
And eat it like
You’re serving 18 to life.

My life is a horrible game show

Lately, life makes me feel
Like a white trash in hiding
Yes, when I run out of smokes
I dig thru the dirty filthy trash
I have worn shirts around the house
For more than a day
With remnants of lunch

I am gassy
I pick my nose
Sometimes I have to steal tampons
The worst is trying to steal dog food.

I’m waiting for someone to walk out
And say ok you’ve been on a game show
THIS IS ALL FAKE

You no longer have to scrounge couch cushion change
To get a caffeine fix
Your days of using cheap messy eyeliner are over
No more shall you eat stale peanut butter sandwiches
And drink watered down kool Aide.

No one has
Yet

I reuse tinfoil and baggies
And I really don’t think it has to do
With the recession
Tho, the “recession”
Is their terminology for what’s going on
All over the world

I call it the revolution
We have all been set free from
Comfort
If you can’t make it here
You’ve been faking all along anyways

Momma was right

They will look you in the eyes
Smile and say something like
“Wow, I’m so glad to meet you”
or “Finally, I get to meet you in person”
but they are not your friends
in fact, they are your enemies
your competition

Remember that old saying that your momma told you?
Keep your friends close
But keep your enemies closer
As I get older, I find this to be more and more true
And as my standards adjust to my maturity
I also find I have way more enemies.

Hang out with these people if you want
Go to their parties
Go to their readings
Pretend to be interested in their drunk banter
And if you’re real lucky
They will publish you
And not fuck you.

It really stuck with me

This kid on the stage
At the open mic
Put on a mask
And went on and on
About how crazy he was
And Brian leaned over and whispered
“I don’t need a mask to show people I’m crazy”

just thinking about all the masks
we each put on
just to make it through the day

we are parents
we are poets
we are friends
we are children
we are husbands
we are wives
we are ALL in here

so I suggest we not try to hide it anymore
Let’s let it all out
All over the page, all blood and guts man
Cause after a few years under your belt
Of juggling those masks
You are bound to have an identity crisis

He Swiped my PikiKiniK Basket

Lately, it has become increasingly obvious
That bears ruin clown themed birthday parties
Well, pretty much any themed parties
Casual get togethers,
Wakes,
If a bear is there,
You can be sure there will be trouble.

DEBBIE”S FIRST ORGASM

Let’s just spread this bitches legs
And put all the shit right out on the cutting table

I plan to cum on this paper
Desensitization has made it
My electric umbrella of feelings

And baby, shooting you down
Feels so good that it’s surely wrong

I’m gonna howl and spit and scream
I’m gonna make you all my Queens

Cause I just fuckin wanna
KILL KILL KILL
but no one has me in their
WILL WILL WILL
Too bad I can fucking
FEEL FEEL FEEL
Cause what I really want to dooooo (Screeching Weasel style)

Is fucking KILL.

not stuck I’m Hiding

You don’t wanna hang me
From my feet
Like a Christmas time piñata from a dollar store
And swing me like a meth head in love
You just really don’t want to open me up

A mani/pedi won’t clear away my neuroses
I’d have better results
Taking a shit
I don’t need counseling
Or hospitals
Or
Cookies and juice
You really better not
Open me

Being closed is my success in action
I use a hot glue gun
To adorn my brow in cheap plastic jewels
It’s how I roll
It’s how I run
If I’m big enough to disappear
From ALL the monsters
I must be huge in Europe

I’m no longer afraid of cliché’s
Though I still have my serious doubts about
Toaster ovens, vaporizers, bug zappers, microwaves
And fans.
Let me stay in the attic

It’s better for us all

Scars

they tell me

to turn my scars

into ink

and let the ink, really

have it’s way with the page

 

it’s not just my words

 

I’ve been on a quest for truth

lately, and

my voice seems to be caught

in the middle of my tummy

and these are

angry, pointy, hurty

words

 

I’ve struggled with the idea of getting my face tattooed

but I’m not so convinced

any ink I create

could be permanent

 

Take me you sexy page

scars and all

 

Because, I plan on getting comfortable.

Therapy

Had this therapist once

Who spent every session trying

To convince me I was more than fine

And I spent every session trying

To convince her that I was more than fucked

And it went on

I know why I kept going

and maybe in some way one of us

benefited

I saw it clearly

Like a chess match

I would plan my things to say to her

For upcoming sessions

And really push the envelope.

That’s how I roll

One of the most frustrating experiences

I have had to date

Was spending a year trying to convince

A therapist (only a LCSW)

That I am fucked up in the head

I didn’t go to our last session

And, “If you see the Buddha on the road, kill it”

Indeed.

Listen to me

You must trust no one

GRAB your destiny by the fucking balls

Flip a bitch,

Go off-road,

No regrets

Go crazy (at least once)

Little time

Die young and leave pretty corpse etc

Cause even when you win at chess

You realize nothing much happened

The world is still spinnin’ baby

And hey,

The good news

I’m totally fucking sane…