a poem about becoming a man:
A Fan Nomore

I once was a player of games
The games are silly
Or so they say
And so I say
I finished high school, need a job
Things change quick
When you grow up
I finished high school, my schedule’s changed
I may be homeless, any day
I, have, reached the age
Where I can be trash, and crushed to dust
For so much as turning to rust
The fantasies I had
No longer seem so sweet
I feel so sad, so sad
To say goodbye
For it is gone, and so I sigh
No more “he Is just a kid”
Instead it’s “look at what he’s done”
The lid is lifted, and
The game of growing up, it’s no fun
I’ve got a whale tied to my back
Perhaps one day, my work will unpack
Perhaps one day, I’ll be a proud, working man
But until that day I’m not a fan
Until that day I’m not a fan


sonnet:
The fountain was gushing in your sweet eyes
And my own eyes as they sent their gazes
You burn my dark in my heart as I sigh
For my hints and praise go unloved, wasted

My love was a seed that began with “hi!”
I wanted numbness, and a soft embrace
In ignorance, and beautiful lies
In games of joy, and laughter with grace

I wanted you, I wanted you, but no
But I played and played and saw your face
And yes, I was joyed ‘till I had to go
And my love for you will never go to waste
To this rhyme I dedicate, my love, shining rose
The early friend I loved, yet never chose


poem about not knowing what to major in:
Where do I go, oh where do I go?
This and that and that and this shouts out like a dust
That stings my eyes but no one sees, oh I fear to rust
And fail-
I fear to fail, I fear to fail, but I don’t know what to do!
I don’t know who I am, except for blissful nothings
And except for discarded everything
By the sage of the clueless ring
Which entices me towards money and money, or this and that and that and this, but doesn’t get the vibe
And I am stuck and apprehensive and oh so buried alive
But this has gone on many times
I’m sure I will not fail