Discount Poetry

I have a low emotional tolerance, 

And I’ve heard that, 

More than once. 

I mean, 

Fuck me if I actually give a shit about the 

Absent father gimmick on a tv show that I JUST started watching, 

But, 

I guess, 

I mean, 

 I kinda wish the kid who had a father who played soft ball with him, 

When he was 8?

Barkeep, 

A martini, 

Ice cold, 

Stirred not shaken, 

Oh god not fucking shaken. 

I drink martinis because, 

The gin brings out the romantic in me, 

The oh-that-fucking-tree-looks-majestic-as- Fuck gene, 

The branches splayed our, 

Reaching for the sun, 

Is a metaphor for our struggle to always reach for what we can’t touch, 

The whole world is a fucking metaphor for all the things you did wrong, 

All the things you could’ve done,

And all the things you’ll probably never do. 

The Vertmouth, 

Oh the Vertmouth, 

The flavored wine represents the different flavors in our life, 

All so different, 

Yet all so same. 

The lemon and the olives, 

They represent balance between sour and well, 

More sour. 

Because if you write poetry, 

You totally can’t drink Martinis 

Because you think James Bond looks sleek as fuck while sipping his drink, 

Stirred not shaken, 

Mind you.

I mean it totally doesn’t fucking matter if life’s looking all up for you,

Tragedy strikes you at 7 am, 

When you really wanna light a fag but oh FUCKKK, 

You’re fasting, 

You can’t smoke, 

And that’s probably the worst thing that happened all week, 

Mind you, 

Tragedy isn’t a competition. 

I mean, 

Honestly, 

Humor me, 

At this point I don’t know why we do this, 

It’s like you can’t write unless you’ve convinced yourself that your life is somehow worse off than it actually is. 

Fuck that, 

Life’s sad,

Because time is money, 

And you have no money to waste,

On building memories, 

Only an empire, 

Of consumption, 

Built on paper piles of printed faces.