WHO WROTE THIS POEM (Fruits of Desire)

I once new this
Woman. Her name was
Desiree. We called her Dez,
For short. Apparently, she discovered
A fruit very similar
To a pear.
She called it the Dez-pear.
The seeds were called
Pits of Dez-pear. You could buy Dez-pears
For two dollars a pound. Dez
Invested much money into the fruit.
The fruit was commercially
Unsuccessful because of the name.
Last time I saw Desiree, she
Was living in a box, eating a Dez-pear.
She threw a bunch of
Pits of Dez-pears at me in
A crazy fashion. I
Called the police.

SO MANY POEMS (Everything)

What we know
Is everything
That's why there's nothing left.
Sleep calls, the future calls, experience calls
And we answer.
To me it is scary, but solitary.
I just want that.
My steady path towards introversion:
A yellow brick road towards sanity.
But maybe the end is deceiving likewise


Why do we crave recognition?
We can't see ourselves when we're dead.
I still yearn for it.

THIS POEM IS NOT TEMPORARY (Contemplation on Life)

I love my life
Because pain is temporary.
I hate my life
Because the good times escape.
Looking back
I have nothing to look forward to.
Maybe I can place an event in
The future, to fill the void.
Why can't my future be valued
On elation, in joy?
Even stability can be frightening.
If life were just more crooked
Then maybe that would be appealing too.
The experiences we yearn for
I wonder if they are necessary.
Will they improve my quality
Of life?
That's why an afterlife has to be there.
Shouldn't the opportunity
To fluctuate between good and bad
Be ever-present?
Or else life cuts off at either
A good or bad ending
Which doesn't seem very fair.
Life can then be labelled as only
Two words, regrets or fulfillment.
It should not be labelled,
Or complete.

FEEL OBLIGED TO READ THIS POEM (Obligations)

I'm obliged to follow,
I'm obliged to think,
Obliged to return
The forged link.
But to wait is foolish,
To wait is lacking;
Keep the line steady,
The border is cracking.
Between the realm
Of the active and lazy
Lies a compelling force
That keeps me brazen.
The force cripples,
The force blinds
To a life silent
Contained to the mind.
My obligations flutter
Around persistent thoughts,
A tabled feeling,
An ellipsed dot.
Leisure's distant,
It keeps its space.
Productivity
Took its place.

TELL ME A POEM (Tell me)

Tell me, is there always something waiting.
Day turns to day, but the
Night continues.
Purpose is a goal, but a goal just
Residue. Life's cycle just a cyclist
Pedaling without end.
Run Forrest run
To feel what is unnecessary.
Let it be
But what will it become?
Pain trembles the still waters
Of neglect, or hope?
I wish indifference could spark faith.
Not without providence

POEMS ARE ME (All I have)

I am
      What I
What I       am
           am                                  Am I
Something  I am                             nothing?
          that
Knows
          not what it is

                         So many
                         Acquaintances
Acquaintance      I have but
                         No friends
                 Family    Family
Family
         Myself  Myself  Myself              My Goals
Family
               Family  Family             Girl

Acquaintance
                       Acquaintance

MY LAST POEM, JK (The Last)

On a bed
Trapped inside my head
I am dead. Maybe
Not a bed, maybe a
Box or wooden-colored
Coffin with my feet
Outstretched  and my toes
Curled. If you find me
Don't find my will or
Conduct an autopsy
Or poke my dead body
With a stick like
A pre-pubescenet
Pack of teenage
Wolves, but they are
Just kids. Take my
Journals and my
Other journals and
Glue your eyes to
The sticky inked paper
And read and then
Read then contemplate
Then read again then
Spread,

            Them to other
People and say this guy
Is dead but he
Wrote a lot of jokes
And poetry and
They are kind of cool:
"You should publicize
This stuff, wow. And
That kid was like
Seventeen? Maybe
He was a genius or
Something?" And then
They will not be mine
But the whole world's
Preserved on paper
With ink and terrible
Penmanship that some
People will not know
How to read, but
They will try.