sunday poems

i'm sick of sharing old stuff / 2016 stuff / I'm 36 and I still have things to say
games to play / I've been telling you how to write for 8 years, so what

Holler if ya hear me / I'm just stealing Tupac lines / I can't write to this music

I check e-mail and Twitter so I don't have to write / this is too hard

How to write if you're not inspired / just write / I played basketball tonight
I have nothing to say / nothing to say / nothing to say

a new song / let's start over

My daughter lies / My daughter cries / My daughter lies / My daughter sighs
omigosh what am i even saying, I give up.

I haven't eaten all day and it ain't even fast sunday

This is an anti-slam poem.

Look, I just want my English credit. So shut up and give it to me.
Talk with your hands
Do the Helen Keller
QUIT QUOTING SONGS don't you have anything to say?

Maybe I've already written about everything.
The moons and the stars
the birds and the bees
what else is there to say that hasn't already been said
by Shakespeare and Mojgani

I've written more midnight poems than anyone in this room
come at me bro

The longer you're here, the more this place feels like the M.T.C.
You'd rather I teach you Spanish instead of English
Scriptures instead of poetry
You want to listen to the spirit, not your heart
I'm done listening to Lamanite poetry.

I'm not asking you to break any commandments,
I just want you to fall in love.
Have one last fling before your plane leaves
I want you to hold hands with adjectives
and send late night texts to that nice metaphor you've been eyeing from across the room
that provocative title you wrote on page 29 of your notebook
it's not too late to be voted cutest couple.

It's not too late, it's not too late

I'm listening to Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata right now and I'm telling you it's not too late

Call me blasphemous
Tell me we should be reviewing MLA format
How to write an essay
How to write an essay
Call me blasphemous,
but this is your last chance to fall in love with language.

She won't find you at 22 because you won't be looking.

She won't wait for 28 because you'll be married with two kids and there's no poetry in children.
There's no poetry in children.

Unless you count the stars in their eyes
or the thunder in their laugh
or all the possibility in their hands
My daughter laid her head on my chest last night and said she couldn't hear my heart.

And I don't know if I can blame her.
Maybe she needs hearing aids, or maybe the truth hurts.
I hope she wasn't listening.


And.I.don't.know.if.I'll.ever.be.the.same.