I promised I’d post some more poems if people read my last post, and the did. So, uhhh, here you go.
#???-hitting the bottle again
Take all the sorrows you’ve got in you
and put um in a bottle,
and then drink it by the pint,
but don’t stop there.
Drink your mother’s sorrows,
and your fathers,
and your brothers-sisters-cousins-friends sorrows.
Drink up sorrows
until you can’t take anymore sorrows
and then you’ll probably die,
and leave everyone wondering what
She looks me in the eyes and rubs my bald head and she tells me “your the greatest poet ever” and I really believe it when we’re lying there entwined in each other.
She holds my hand when we walk down the street and we talk about the strangers passing by and how funny they are and she laughs and I love her laugh.
She doesn’t care that I’m broke or some dirty kitchen boy, she thinks I’m the greatest poet ever and so I write poems about her and I really believe she loves me and I think I probably love her
She gets drunk and I get drunk and I get to thinking that maybe she’s just been playing me and I tell her that and she calls me an idiot and kisses me and I forget about everything else and just hold her
She wasn’t there for the poetry.
She wasn’t there for the money.
She wasn’t there for the fame.
And in all honesty,
she wasn’t there,
she was just a dream girl.