I hope you get enough sunlight

bailing out when it gets too hard
I stare at the doorway
step outside
look up at the pines
I’m not apart of it
never will be
he told me
he would
do anything to spend
another night with her
made me feel
stronger there
is no breaking
another night
with her
the only place to ask
if they’re
falling out
become accustomed to
hearing these placeholder
digs lifting
me
hovering over
the cerulean blue couch

Band practice

The tools are more expensive
than the end product,
most of the time.

What I will produce with these $60 worth of tools ,
will be laying around,
for only my mother to see.

Writing is free but
painting,
is a luxury.

When poems go nowhere,
like this one,
there is the opportunity to erase, delete,
cut and manipulate,

without a trace of a letter.

Painting is layered, mistakes and all.
What is and
what could have been.

Hidden to the eye,
but existent in the nature.

I bet Van Gogh was a good lover

Writers look like writers,
by their pens, glasses, and paper.
Do I look like a writer?
I don’t know, but I need a new journal.

I have been going back in the moleskine
that I got two years ago
and writing and sketching on the pages I already wrote on.
This makes for a confusing
and hard to understand
journal.

But if I do buy a new journal, with my nonexistent money,
I want it to be a Moleskine.
Just to keep the tradition going.
It makes the letters on the page
look legitiment and smart

Like I am writing important things, which will later be
discovered, a la Van Gogh.

I have always had such a fascination with Van Gogh.
To be more successful after your death,
is that even success.
He also cut his ear off for a lover,
I’d trust him.