Not Pointless

The
       point
                of
                   this
                         poem
                                  is
                                    right
                                            here.
                                     The
                               rest
                            is
                     just
              filler
         with
  structure.

 

66 6-Word Stories

1. 9th inning, Jeter can’t find socks

2. Dyslexic man gets car in ass

3. Black plague wipes out alt-white

4. Man plays with fire, pees bed

5. Dreamt about it. Then did it. 

6. Dinner and a Movie: Execution Edition

7. Breaking News: Giant llamas. Loogies everywhere.

8. Taylor Swift confesses: “I’m the worst”

9. 2016: Biggie dead of heart disease

10. Frank Ocean drowns under crowd surf

11. It's benign! Wait, wrong file. Sorry. 

12. Champion jockey swallows Pride, crowd vomits

13. Pull door sick of being pushed

14. Serial killer rehabilitated in cereal factory 

15. Winter cancelled after one trillion seasons

16. Heroin wins the war on drugs

17. Study reveals: Researchers missed important details

18. Cancer cures itself, scientific community jealous

19. "Fuck this," said the hungry vegan. 

20. Scooby Doo: “Ry Rattle Rith Rulimia”

21. “Somebody better cut my hotdog” - Trump

22. The closest bathroom was too far

23. Great White banned from poker tourney

24. Nonconformist kitten poops outside the box

25. Puberty: Where nightmares meet wet dreams

26. New puppy digs up former pet

27. Trophy wife shot, stuffed and mounted

28. Wheelchair basketball star nails 360 dunk

29. Woolly Mammoth revived, immediately has diarrhea 

30. Self-destructing in 3, 2, 1...

31. We used syrup instead of lube

32. Stairway to heaven - slippery when wet

33. Torched haystack. Found needle. Problem solved. 

34. “Joining the president is her wife…”

35. One baby to another: “You're adopted.”

36. Pro life. Pro choice. Pro lobbyist. 

37. My Mom proudly displayed Dad's body

38. Texas demographics: 95% homophobic, 8% gay

39. Monday morning: Phone, keys, wallet, shotgun.

40. “Cut the blue wire,” he lied. 

41. Born a twin; graduated only child. 

42. Open casket funeral. Open bar, too. 

43. I woke up during the autopsy…

44. Student as think as she drunks

45. Floating body saves family from drowning

46. STEM students stop fellating, start membraning

47. They both swiped right. Now what?

48. Local man’s epitaph: Hold my beer. 

49. Community swear jar runneth fucking over

50. Bull in china shop suprisingly gentle  

51. Pig and spider somehow now BFFs

52. Tom catches Jerry, apologizes for everything 

53. Local man’s girlfriend charges him hourly

54. Paper boy evolves into paper man

55. If you have it… do I? 

56. Turns out carbon monoxide doesn’t smell

57. Woman marries mannequin, pregnant with mannekids

58. Day 14: Eclipse still in progress…

59. Staring contest interrupted by passing train

60. Grandma hosted elderly orgy. Nobody came.

61. “Curiosity again,” declared the kitten coroner.

62. Hand job. Blow job. Day job. 

63. 5 billion euthanized, climate change reversed

64. My suicide post got 22 likes

65. Cute Christian girl looking for same

66. Zoo elephant never sober, always forgets

One In The Oven

2:15 I woke up in a cage with a woman restraining my arms.

2:17 My captor is now escorting me to a brightly lit room.

2:18 I’ve just been stripped naked. She's lifting my legs over my head. I feel violated.

2:19 I can’t kick my ankles free of her grip.

2:20 She's dousing me with a white powder.

2:27 She just strapped me inside a transport pod. I don’t know where she's taking me.

2:29 My hands are free, but the clasp across my chest is too complicated to unlock. And I can’t wriggle free.

2:30 I can’t see my captor. Just a moving sky and my flailing feet.

2:32 This transport pod is strangely relaxing. That powder must’ve been a sedative.

2:39 We’ve stopped moving. My captor is silent.

2:40 She just exited the pod. Now’s my chance to escape.

2:42 My efforts to chew through the straps are futile. Going to try wriggling again.

2:45 No use. Temperature’s rising. She'll be back any second.

2:49 No sign of my captor. If she doesn't kill me, the heat will. Need to buy myself some time.

2:50 Can’t reach the window. Can’t squirm out. Looking for something to throw.

2:53 Everything throwable is soft. Fuck.

2:55 Still no sign of my captor. My clothes are soaked with sweat.

2:56 My God. She's cooking me to death.

2:57 I need to get out of here. Now. Think.

2:59 Maybe if I make enough noise, someone will find me.

3:00 I just shit myself. Great.

3:02 Wailing for help. I don’t think anyone can hear me.

3:04 Caught my reflection in the window. My skin is so red.

3:07 Shit is seeping between my back and my seat. It reeks in here.

3:11 Hard to breathe. Head feels heavy.

3:14 Heat getting to me. Seeing colors.

3:18 Too weak to scream. Too dehydrated to cry.

3:21 Nodding out.

3:24 Goodbye.

3:30 Just woke up covered in glass with cool air blasting through the broken window.

3:32 A man wearing black clothes and sunglasses is pulling me out. At last, I’m free.

3:35 I can see my captor over the man's shoulder. She's in a cage. Her arms, restrained.

Oh, Interjection

Read this once, then destroy

Always consider, but never employ

When the decoy pretends it’s the real McCoy

You’re a fool, boy. Oh, boy.

 

It’s harder to die when you live in fear

Up with the bottle and down with the beer

Even if it appears the end is near

You’re still late for work, dear. Oh, dear.

 

Too tired to sleep, too busy to answer the doorbell

Purposeless like a snail-less shell

The infection will swell, then start to smell  

You don’t look so well. Oh, well.

 

The heavier you get, the farther you’ll fly

It’s easy to eat when you live in a pigsty

You'll never survive if you keep covering your eyes

Just watch out for my—oh, my.

 

Get too close, you’ll lose your toes

Get too high, your whoas become woes

Even a soaring crow must look out below

And if you have to ask, you’ll never know. Oh, no.

Awkward Talker

I have trouble starting conversations. It’s not as easy for me as it is for others. 

Last night, while I was out trying to stargaze, an important-looking dick walked toward me on the sidewalk. As he approached, I noticed he had the kind of face that would look exactly the same with or without his stupid mustache. He carried a black cane with a wolf’s head for a handle.

I envied it.

I imagined leaning on it, knocking things off the top shelf with it, and throwing it like a spear to pretend the wolf could fly. If the cane were mine, I’d make believe it was an army-issued rifle. I’d holster it in the elastic of my sweatpants and have friends. And when I came across these friends of mine, I’d pull the fake gun out of its holster, point it at them, and say, “Gotcha, bitches.”

Hilarious.

I’d be what they call “a character.” People would want to see more of me. They would say, “He’s such a character! Always with the cane he pretends is a gun!” then exchange glances with one another. Then they’d wave the whole thing off with both hands and decide to do lunch with me.

“Lunch?” they’d ask.

“Let’s” I’d say, holstering my pretend rifle.

The important-looking, mustachioed dick continued in my direction. I skinnied sideways so he could pass. But he made no effort to make himself passable, and our shoulders collided.

“Pardon me,” he said as he brushed past me, just like the last person who had something I envied.

“Come back!” I beckoned.

He waved me off and sped up. I went after him and tapped him on the back of his pea coat.

“I have something to ask you,” I blurted out.

What?” he responded tersely. He kept walking, like he was scared of me. I wanted to ask him if he ever imagined his cane was a rifle. Then, when he said “Yes,” I’d say, “Me too,” so we would have something in common. But I knew that would scare him, so I said something I thought was scary so we could be scared together.

“I’ll shoot you with your own cane!” I bellowed, lunging toward him and reaching for the wolf’s head. He recoiled into a batting stance, ready to swing. That was when another important-looking dick came along. This dick was bearded and owned the hat shop we were standing in front of. But he wasn’t wearing a hat, and I thought that was funny.

“What the fuck? Who the fuck are you?” the bearded dick said forcefully, poking me in the chest.

“Uhhhh,” was all I could get out. I couldn’t look him in the eye, so I looked at his display window.  It was full of breastless mannequins wearing derby hats sitting around a square table. There were playing cards stuck to their hands by means of some invisible adhesive—probably the quick-dry liquid variety. However, there wasn’t a single thumb between the four of them, and this bearded dick expected me to pretend they were playing poker.

“Who the fuck are you?” the bearded dick grunted.

I think he thought I didn’t understand him, and that was why he asked again. I think he expected me to say something. I made a thinking face to appease him. Then I actually started thinking:

They don’t have ears or hair…yet their hats do not fall over their eyes…there has to be an adhesive…but the same quick-dry liquid adhesive used on the cards and hands…would probably ruin the hats…no, a liquid adhesive wouldn’t be right…the mannequins must have adhesive tape between their heads and their hats…and these strips must be looped into O-shapes…wait…they sell double-sided tape at the Five & Dime…dumbass.

“Go!” barked the bearded dick, pointing across the street.

I scurried across the street and sat on a bus bench. I watched the bearded dick talk to the mustachioed dick like they were friends. The bearded dick pat his hand on the shoulder of the mustachioed dick as he leaned on his cane. Then, they laughed. And when they laughed, I could see the steam of their gasps converging. It looked so cool. So I set out to find someone to converge steam with.

I have trouble with this, too. It’s not as easy for me as it is for others. 

I walked a block and found two assholes talking. I approached the one wearing red and said, “What the fuck? Who the fuck are you? Who the fuck are you? Go.”

It didn’t work. But I finally saw stars.

Such Misunderstanding

May, 1666

Upon reaching the natives' camp, they told us, in their language, "Leave our crops be, and we will give you our daughters."

We had no interest in their crops or their daughters; not until we realized their daughters were so undervalued, and not until we saw that by torching their crops, we might teach them to value their daughters more.

It did not occur to us that they might interpret our actions as, "Even to the likes of us seafaring men, those daughters of yours are of so little value that the pleasure we derive from destroying your harvest is preferable to the pleasure we'd derive from their possession", or perhaps, "We will torch your crops and then have your daughters." Those sorts of possibilities tend to slip your mind in the moment, only to occur to you later, in your well-appointed quarters, sipping from a magnum of pupu-tree liquor and reviewing the day's events in your log—but such misunderstanding on the part of the natives might in fact explain why they elected, in the glow of the fires we had put to their crops, to pulp all their daughters' skulls with clubs.

At the time, we thought they were offering us a sacrifice...

 

Church Crush

I hate church. But I like Emily.

We’ve never talked, but I’m pretty sure she likes me back. I can tell by how she smiles at me when she sings.

You see, Emily’s in the choir. And choir girls are beautiful because they have beautiful voices. But she’s the most beautiful because of her curly hair.

She’s way older than I am though. She has braces and goes to Youth Group with older boys. I don’t like them very much.  

I’m stuck in Sunday school with kids who pee their pants. And my teacher, Mrs. Winslow, is a bitch.

I learned that word from my dad. And I think Mrs. Winslow is a bitch because she told me I have to wait two more years until I can go to Youth Group.

I want to join the choir so I can be with Emily. But I can’t because my dad says singing is for girls and sissies. I think he’s a bitch, too.

Two years is a long time. She could change churches. Or become an atheist. Or, so help me God, marry one of those older boys.

What if I never get to talk to her?

I guess I'll just smile back.

Copper

He's not golden.
He's been ten toes down for the last ten months.
Working to get a foot in the door and the other out of his mouth (for once).
To look down on him is to misunderstand his craft.
Watch him slash at his expectations before penning a draft.
If actions speak louder than words, you won’t hear a thing.
Because to him, acting is far from actually writing.
Even as this pursuit of brightness takes its toll.
He’s unconcerned, overwhelmed and out of control.
You can find him liquored up on the rooftop.
Legs draped over the gutter, bottle down to its last drop.
In his mind, there's no rest for the weak.
But he needs a week’s rest, desperately.

Between Friends

He had no love left after breaking his fixation.  
He spent months tripping over the past and falling for the present. The last thing he expected was an invitation.

‘Got my PhD, celebrate with me’
The postcard quivered between his fingers.
There’s no way he’d fly across the country for that. Most of the burning in his gut still lingered.

His phone rang a week later. Just guess.
“It’s kinda short notice,” he lied, “I have something going on.”
“Don’t lie,” she always knew. “It’d mean the world to me if you’d come.”

The loudest plane engine couldn’t drown out the thoughts screaming through his head. Like,
‘Just be polite and for Christ’s sake, don’t say anything embarrassing.’
And,
‘Don’t do this to yourself.’
‘What a fool.’
‘You’re making a mistake.’
 
He almost talked himself out of going into the party. How easy it’d be to just take off running.
But if he wasn’t such a sap, he wouldn’t have come.
Fuck it. Here goes nothing.

The party was full of unfamiliar faces; the type of people they used to make fun of together.
“Enjoy the party!” she toasted the crowd with fake enthusiasm, as she knocked back her glass for good measure.

A couple at the bar asked if he lived around here. He told them he moved to the east coast.
“Well then what brought you back?” they imposed.
He smirked. He sipped. He used to be in love with the host.

He got drunk. Then decided he shouldn’t be there anymore and hoped nobody told her he showed up. Where’s the door?

He had burnt off his cool trying to ignore the elephant in the room.
But as Murphy’s Law was about to fail, she caught him by the coat rack.
“Leaving so soon?”

He eyed her from the top down. She hadn’t changed a bit, despite her new lifestyle.
Funny how he used to get lost in the curve of her cheek and the structure of her well-timed smile.

She laid a hand on his arm. “I didn’t think you’d make it.”
“Neither did I,” he said, reminded of her touches effect.
“I’m glad you did. It feels like it’s been ages,” she took a half step closer.
“Congratulations on your doctorate,” he had to change the subject.

“Thank you. It means so much coming from you,” her eyes went misty.
“I mean, I do know how bad you wanted it,” he responded. Big mistake.
Her face softened. She gripped his arm like she used to.
“I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and I have something to say.”

“We used to talk about how we’d be something someday,” she choked out.
“And I know life with you would be so much better than this.”
“I really shouldn’t be here,” he scrambled, “And if I don’t leave now, I’ll lose my wits.”

She pulled him close, one last attempt to remind him what it used to be.
“Please don’t go. I fucked up,” she said through tears.
He couldn’t hold her back, so he told her, “We’re finally free.”

He knew exactly why he was invited. Moving on is easier said than done.
And before she turned around, she confessed.
“Don’t ever forget. You are loved.”

Big Thinkers & Binge Drinkers

She asked me why we’re afraid of the unfamiliar and why we have urges. I said instinct. She called bullshit. 

I watched her finish her drink and shiver a little. What was left of the ice cubes in her glass clinked together as she set it on the table. I didn't say anything, I just moved closer. 

She told me about studying in London and about how she loves kids and about the time she broke her ankle at the beach. I asked her if she wanted another drink. She asked me for my jacket. 

I could feel her watching my back as I stood at the bar. She made me nervous.

I liked it.

Our eyes locked as I made my way back to the table. I wanted her to feel nervous, too. But she stared back coolly. 

Damn. She was fascinating.

Her fingertips grazed mine as I handed her the glass. She laughed and told me I have a funny walk. I told her I never thought about it before. 

We toasted to London and the unfamiliar before we downed them. Blood rushed to our faces, then other places. And this time, she moved closer to me. 

There’s that instinct I told her about.  

High School Me Was A Hardass

When I was 15, I was tough as a $2 steak. I even made heavy music \m/ 

I always thought the music brought out something primal in me. Turns out I was just releasing my inner child. My mom said I did the same shit in the grocery store as a toddler—you know, flail and scream. 

I'm still tough. And lightly seasoned.

Enjoy these gems. And hell yes, that's me with the microphone. 

This quality entertainment brought to you by angsty midwestern teenagers. 

New City Blues

I've got this girl who doesn't love me anymore,

Since I packed up and moved to the shore.

I don’t think she hates me but she fucks with my emotions,

And she messes with my head because I chose to sleep close to the ocean.

Instead of with her.

She was born on a pedestal and I started from the bottom,

Opposites from the beginning but that’s why it was awesome.

Spent four years together but my career caused us problems,

Her heart’s in California, but my brain brought me to Boston.

She didn’t come with me. 

So now here I sit in an east coast city,

Wondering how she’s doing and if she’ll ever miss me.

I try not to think about her by keeping myself busy,

But I still follow her on Instagram — damn, she’s still so pretty.

More like flawless. Fuck. 

The difference between east and west is only a couple letters,

But the only way I’ll learn is through drastic measures.

If she’s gone forever, I wish her the best in her endeavors,

It’s time for me to grow and make myself better.

Hooked

“I have a confession to make,” he said to me with a twisted smile. “I’ve dreamt about this.”  

He brushed my hair behind my ear. His filthy, jagged fingernails made me uneasy. 

“You’ve been coming over here for months,” he leaned in close. His calloused hand snagged my tights as it slid up my thigh.   

I was terrified by his bulging eyes and his scabbed face that left blood stains on his eggshell-white pillowcase — but I needed what was in his pocket. 

He slipped his hand under my shirt.

“Can I get a taste first?” I blurted out as he unhooked my bra. I felt time screech to a halt as my addiction undercut every bit of logic that passed through my head. 

What am I doing here? (I need a fix). I barely know this disgusting guy. (I need a fix). I respect myself too much to do this. (I need a fix).

“Anything for you, gorgeous,” he whispered, his cracked lips curled and exposed his rotten teeth. 

He pulled the resin-stained glass from his pocket. An all-too-comforting chemical smell filled my nostrils. 

I don’t want to do this anymore. (I need a fix). I can still get out of here. (I need a fix). I’m better than this. (I need a fix).

One drag transformed all of my fears into a vibrant display of delirium. 

I wasn’t scared anymore. I was on a date with Prince fucking Charming. 

Merit badges they don't teach in the Boy Scout Manual

Yes. I was once a Boy Scout. And at the time, merit badges were almost as cool as Pokemon badges.

There's a merit badge for just about everything: Swimming, orienteering, emergency preparedness, fishing, knot-tying, you name it.

But what about all those merit badges you can't name? Don't worry, I named them for you:

The “MacGyver” Badge:

Awarded to Scouts with killer instinct and creativity. For those who can fashion a spear out of any stick, a whip out of any vine, and a bludgeon out of any pinecone.

The “Mooch” Badge:

Given to the Scout who is forever unprepared. Criteria include bumming snacks, sunscreen and socks off other Scouts and never realizing just how fucking annoying that is. 

The “Leafy Improviser” Badge:

Exclusive to Scouts that demonstrate innovation and a sense of adventure. Requirements include using a leaf from a live plant and not getting poison ivy in your crack.

The “World is my Sandbox” Badge

Awarded to Scouts that abandon the luxury of indoor plumbing and become one with nature. A prerequisite to the “Leafy Improviser” badge.

The “Snitch Without a Stitch” Badge:

Awarded to the stealthiest tattletale Scout. Requirements include ratting on fellow Scouts, but never letting them find out who the rat is. 

The “Shut Up or I'll Tell My Dad” Badge:

Bestowed upon the Scout whose father is the short-shorts-wearing Scoutmaster. Criteria include being an entitled little shit and getting away with everything.

The “Our Little Secret” Badge:

Granted to the Scout who has been selected to work the tool that jeopardizes the Scoutmaster’s integrity, career and marriage.