poems that dont rhyme or matter

my attempt to rhyme:

Quit My Job

I quit my job today because my boss told me to run a lap

The physical labor was not in my job description and lacked certain class

I pulled out my rack and filed for sexual harass

my boss is now in jail holding his ass

why does he have no class?

should I feel sad that I’m made of glass

for I am a tie rack  not made to run laps

I will not hold ties for a boss who can not grasp

that tie racks made from glass  just simply can  not run laps

some of my other poems:

A Guy Named Tim:

Hey Tim, I am sorry I missed you. I do apologize for stealing your mail

the mail that you wish to  read

the mail that you must see to pay your bills

the mail that keeps you up at night

the mail that helps you sleep at night

the mail that is filled with coupons for baby formula that has no use to  a man of your stature

I do apologize for the checks that I have cashed and for the credit cards that I have maxed

the packages that I have stole and raided

the laptop, books, and pure Columbian cocaine that fills my nose  in which you had UPS(ed)

I believe you have missed so much

for Tim, I dont think I am a good neighbor

but before the button beeps, allow me please,

to say sorry again

your neighbor Tim.

I hate Needles:
I hate needles since they carry diseases

The same needles that stick out of the arms of a  homeless man under a bridge

the needles that doctors use to steal your blood to feast on  when you dont  look

the thought of a needle breaking my skin and tearing  into my vein makes me cringe

the needles that you see broken  on the streets

or in some countries passed out like a treat

the needles in which drugs flow freely

the needles in that you have to find a vein cause the ones u once used have gone lame

needles are everywhere

the tattoo parlor that burns ink into your arm

to the backstage party with syringes running free

heroin is my favorite drug though

which is odd for my deadly fear of needles

i get my hypodermic needle with a smile on my face

as I search for a vein that has yet to fail

why dont I just smoke it or snort it you may ask

but where would the irony be in that?

as the heroin cooks in my spoon

i hear a cop drive by my cockroach  infested apartment

the cotton ball in my spoon as I prepare the area that I’ve found

I draw blood and am excited again for I will get high again

without this needle i will face

nausea, diarrhea, stomach cramps, hot and cold chills

oh well

lets find another vein

This entry was posted in Still Not Shot. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s