SAD POP TARTS

Do you want me to write you a poem?

Ok, I’ll write you a poem, a goddamn fucking one at that. You know what I hate about poems? How they’re all the same, how they snake down the page or in this age the screen in a little line. Poems are skinny and prose is fat and that’s fucking discrimination. I’m going to seek out a social justice warrior to be an online dick about it (as if you gotta seek those losers out).

I’m going to write fat poems that smell like prose and there isn’t even one godddamn thing you can do about it because I’m free white and 21 or a strong black woman who don’t need no man. Either or.

You people and your outrage. You people and your rules.

Fuck you.

EE CUMMINGS once said “next to of course god america i love you” but he can’t have been serious amid all the sweet brutal galore and opinion markets and links shared but never read. The toilet trailer trash. The jealousy of the poor and unsuccessful. The failure that ain’t supposed to be, that isn’t FAIR, that happens anyway, to all of us.

You saw the best minds of your generation destroyed by madness starving hysterical naked? Bullshit. They blah blahed all the way home with nary a motherfucking howl. I see no minds of any generation doing anything, except the same shit as the generation before them.

Sad pop tarts all of them, fucked by the universe, nothing they’re fault.

And you read this and you feel my rage and you think something is wrong with ME?

Good luck with all that as you slowly saunter into the slaughter without even the slightest stampede.