starved wrists &
clothes with an anorexic fit

i am the epitome of the modern poet
hiding behind the blue screen-glow

the tap tap tap of keys
beats of my own obscure music

fuck those old men
sitting behind desks with pen in hand
writing their overrated stories
of beautiful women
(screw. them.)

i’ll do this my way
rambling & jumbled
spitting out hatred &
love & pain
clichés and anti-clichés

if i don’t make much sense
you’re probably reading this wrong.