Poetry

Depressing poetry, heartfelt poetry, political poetry, no bullshit poetry, suicidal poetry, sex poetry, poetry slam

Five Days From Sober
Written by: Alex Sandell

Five days from sober,
I wish I could feel like the rest of you.
Five days from sober,
I’m tired of soaking myself in this excuse.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t cutting the rainforests down.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t combining Church and State.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t telling us it’s un-American to conserve.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t still touting the “benefits” of the WTO.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t selling monopolies at bargain basement prices.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t ignoring the homeless.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t denying the fact that Capital Punishment doesn’t work.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t taking medical marijuana away from the sick.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t carrying on with this foolish drug war.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t letting multi-national corporations homogenize culture after culture.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t denying equal rights to homosexuals.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t using prisons to keep the blacks slaves.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t cutting taxes for the rich.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t lowering minimum wage for the poor.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t blaming all the violence on TV.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t still using “tree-hugger” and “bleeding-heart” as an insult.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t still claiming that socialized medicine is a bad thing.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t drilling in wildlife preserves.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t killing the planet for your SUV.
I can’t stay sober for “four more years.”
I can’t stay sober through all this “compassion.”
I can’t stay sober through all this “unity.”
I can’t stay sober when this “reformer” gets his results.
I can’t stay sober when they take the war into the sky.
I can’t stay sober knowing that Chicken Little was right.
Five days from sober,
I don’t think I’ll ever go back.
Five days from sober,
I know there’s nothing left.

 

Bury
Written by: Alex Sandell

We all believe in something more than what we have,
so we don’t feel like we’ve missed out on everything.
We all believe there is something more,
so we don’t feel like there’s nothing at all.

And it always centers inside of my ear.
And it hides within a grand-mal.
And it lives and breathes in the enemies I create.
And it manifests in my hate.

And it always centers inside of your crusade.
And it stares out from within your desperation.
And it lives and breathes inside of the person you’ve went all out to formulate.
And it manifests in a fictional me, and you won’t let yourself escape.

Anywhere we can place the blame.
Anywhere we can bury the hurt.
Anyone we can point the finger at.
Anyone we can hide inside.

Anything, as long as we don’t have to let it go.
Keep the fire burning by putting it out.
Keep the light on by removing the bulb.
Anything but having to face the everything
we haven’t had the chance to fabricate.

 

Crucifix
Written by: Alex Sandell

Crucifix is stained with hate.
Crucifix is stained with lust.
Crucifix is stained with hypocrisy.
Crucifix is stained with televangelists.

Crucifix is on fire.
Church burns down.
Up in flames, God barbecued his choir.

How can we have faith?
How can we blindly follow?
Too many conflicted messages make the entire thing seem hollow.

Crucifix, Crucifix,
send all of my friends to Heaven.
Crucifix, Crucifix,
send all of my enemies to Hell.
Crucifix, Crucifix,
while you’re at it, could you send me a new DVD player, as well?
One that works this time?

Church shooter guns down the congregation,
just when they were learning they’d burn in hell
for acts of masturbation.
Oh, so many of them in eternal fire.
I wonder if they’ve been joined by the charcoaled choir?
Look through the ashes.
Look through the bullet holes . . .
get a look at this –
the only thing left standing
is the battered crucifix!

 

Copyright
Written by: Alex Sandell

Violate my copyright,
take your hand and lower my standards.
Life is a fucking fabrication,
manipulating forever.
There’s nothing for us here,
outside of a musty coffin.
Take me into your womb
and let me live forever.
Heaven is a woman’s stomach
and Hell is the outside.

 

I Wish I Was Rambo
Written by: Alex Sandell

I don’t want to go out anymore.
I just want to sit in my room and watch
paid commercials
about exercise machines and telephone psychics.
Stare vacantly at out of shape morons riding machines,
cheerily describing their flabby arms and oversized butt.
“I can really feel this machine working,”
they’ll say and the corporation will sell a hundred more.
They claim they’re in it for the cardiovascular workout
when they really just want to get laid.
“Firm your fanny in under three weeks,”
and the corporation will sell two hundred more.
The corporation will get fat off of the insecurities they sell. And I sit back in my hard plastic chair
and eat a bag of greasy potato chips, a candy bar for my dessert.
Then I scratch my balls and jot down another
1-800 number to call for more information
so maybe someday I’ll get laid.
Then I set down the piece of paper and watch more mindless t.v.
By the next day I’ll forget all about it.
One machine the corporation won’t sell.

 

Bestseller
Written by: Alex Sandell

About once a month someone recommends a bestseller
for me to read.
“You’ll really enjoy this one,”
they tell me as I head to my local grocery store.
I stop at the mass-marketed paper-back section
and pick up a mass-marketed book.
I put it in my cart with the rest of the junk-food.
I bring it home, turn the little lamp on above my bed,
and sit down to read.
I always get partially involved
until around the middle when I just lose interest
and become entirely bored.
“I could write something better than that,”
I always proclaim,
and then I never do.
Instead I pick up something other than that best-seller,
something that I can’t purchase along with
my box of Captain Crunch.
Something a little more real.
Something darker, more vivid, satirical, surrealistic or sad.
Something I can read and reread,
always discovering something more.
Something filled up with all of the answers
and enough questions to keep you up for weeks.
Something you find on the back shelf
of the independent bookstore;
The one that’s located in the bad part of town.
Something that you’d risk your life for.
I’ll get back to that bestseller later.

 

The First of September
Written by: Alex Sandell

The first of September,
I walk down to the park
where we used to go late at night to hold hands.
The place where we’d promise each other forever.
I sit down at the point I liked to think of as ours.
I reach over to put my hand into yours,
but only get a fistful of sand.
You would smile and tell me
“Whenever you need someone,
I’ll always be there for you.”
So where are you right now?
I’m alone,
except for some car-engine humming across the street
and a lone dog barking off in the distance.
The swings are perfectly still,
you no longer bring them your laughter.
The moon shines down on me,
it’s no longer romantic.
And the stars aren’t falling anymore.
The trees are beginning to lose their leaves
and their branches silhouette the night sky.
I lean back, close my eyes and try to imagine you’re here with me.
Still offering me all of the dreams that I’ve never had,
and the solace that I’ve always desired.
Letting me feel that for once, this heart won’t be broken.
Letting me lose myself in your smile.
I open my eyes, hoping to find you.
Hoping that, by some miracle, you come back.
As the car-engine keeps on humming
and the lone dog keeps on barking,
I think I finally found a spot as lonely as me.

 

The Carmex Death Song
Written by: Alex Sandell

When I die,
it’s gonna suck,
cuz Carmex won’t get all warm and smooshy
when I keep it in my pants’ pocket.

 

Newt’s Wet Dream
Written By: Alex Sandell

They sell us a period of time,
as though it’s a CD.
They make us believe
consumerism created our memories.
They make us believe the little people are nothing at all.
They convince us that the power rich
control every feeling we own.
The scariest dream that I’ve ever had
took place at the World’s largest corporation.
Every citizen was forced into a suit and tie,
their hair cut and combed properly,
eyebrows plucked and nose hairs hidden away.
Nobody had a thought for themselves,
when they got off work
they all undressed and put on cowboy hats.
Conservative country shit-kicked out of their speakers,
as they square-danced to Rush Limbaugh’s voice.
Thoughts were outlawed
and the national greeting was a patriotic “yee-haw!”
They replaced public t. v.
with government funded episodes
of virtual “Hee-Haw.”
They burned down all the homeless shelters
and hid the history books.
They took the bubblegum down from every shelf
and replaced it with chewing tobacco and motivational messages from the NRA.
Nobody cared,
they just kept line-dancing and plucking nosehairs.
Then my alarm clock started ringing its bell
I think I woke up,
but why am I still trapped in this oppressive dream?

 

Smile
Written By: Alex Sandell
Smile,
the camera’s upon you.
Smile,
pretend the world is all yours.
Smile,
pretend that you’re actually happy.
Smile,
pretend that you actually care.
Smile,
as though you don’t know you’re an image.
Smile,
we’re all an act.

 

Lesson
Written By: Alex Sandell

Aging-flesh and pumping-blood is such a fucker.
I’m starting to hate every person that has ever laughed at another.
I try so hard not to hurt anyone.
Nothing I say can ever convince you,
that I really care.
I will swear that I won’t ever hate you,
as you hang up the phone.
The suffering that you represent will not go away.
I wish I could leave you,
but that would leave me alone.

 

Lethargic
Written by: Alex Sandell

I’ve got to peel myself off of this easy chair.
I’ve sat here so long that fungus is growing off of my back.
This isn’t the easiest thing that I’ve ever done.
I’ve become trapped in fear of my own body.
My heart mocks me by skipping a beat.
My lower back laughs as my legs fall asleep.
Seizures wait in the back of my mind,
finding the perfect time to attack.
Migraines rip their way through my skin
and make a home in my head.
I’ve never felt this short of breath before.
I turn on the t. v., but there’s still nothing on.
I try to read another book,
but it’s not within reach of my easy chair.
I try to go back to college,
but my heart just skipped again.
I try to get a new job,
but my legs are still asleep.
I try to get a girlfriend,
but my dick is too small.
Is that my phone,
or is it on t. v.?
The cordless phone’s not within reach of my easy chair.
I’ve wasted so many minutes,
so many days,
so many years.
I just watch them fly past,
without looking back.
I’d like to catch up with them,
but I swear,
I’ve never had chest-pain quite like this before.

 

Junior Republicans
Written By: Alex Sandell

Your 40,000 square-foot mansions and million dollar yachts
just can’t raise a kid.
Smile! Your children are sociopaths.
You’ve gave them the world,
it’s ironic that you forgot to offer a conscious.
Every weekend in an expensive motel
with a fancy whirlpool,
offers them nothing at all.
Little Mikey just got caught with a bag of cocaine,
two days after you gave him the credit card.
Try as you may, you just can’t purchase love.
You sure as hell can’t buy loyalty.
You’re up all night praying that your teenage junkies makes it home alive,
they’ll never empathize with your pain.
When the stress finally does you in
and your little piggies inherit all of your fortune.
They won’t feel any remorse,
they’ll just think of different ways to claim that they “earned it.”
They want it all for themselves.

 

A Poem to Frown With
Written by: Alex Sandell

Affirmative poetry is the most pointless thing on the Earth.
Writing about happy thoughts
is more of a curse than a gift.
All the smiling poets
and their cheerful delusions
aren’t any more real than the all the girls that stand me up,
the guys that they date
or the tanning beds that get them laid.
They aren’t any more genuine than the jocks playing ball on a Saturday night.
The followers,
the bigots,
the bullies,
and the spoiled rich actor and his pompous jokes.
They’re just as trite as all the happy endings,
the smile you give as you say “cheeeeeese!”
The gaiety displayed at an employer’s birthday party,
the card that you give him
or the pink champagne that keeps you gay.
Keep me away from all your affirmation.
Who the fuck wants to read about puppies and flowers and true love
anyway?

 

Interview Me, Too, Please
Written by: Alex Sandell

I want to be a guest on Jay Leno,
David Letterman, Conan O’ Brien
and Tom Snyder.
I’m tired of sitting in my room.
I want them to ask me lots of pre-planned questions,
I want to be a celebrity, too.
But what if nobody thinks I’m funny?
What if nobody laughs?
What if I walk off stage and everyone thinks I’m a moron?
What if it doesn’t make everything right?
I don’t think I want that.
I don’t know if I can take it.
Still,
it might be better than sitting here
at twenty-four years old,
moping around and doing nothing.
Sitting in the basement watching Jay Leno,
David Letterman, Conan O’ Brien
and Tom Snyder
on late night t.v.

 

Anarchist
Written by: Alex Sandell

I want to be a exhibitionist,
because to be an exhibitionist,
you must be egotistical enough,
to believe that you’ll turn another human on.

I want to be a socialist,
because to be a socialist,
you must be selfless enough,
to believe that you don’t deserve everything that you have.

I want to be an anarchist,
because to be an anarchist,
you must be crazy enough,
to believe that everyone deserves to be free.

 

Nothing Means the World To Me
Written by: Alex Sandell

I’m trying to reevaluate the life that I’ve had
and find a way to never go back to it.
I wish that I wasn’t condemned to be the
same person that I was yesterday.
There’s not enough time allotted within mortality
to go on with this casual, “do-nothing” life.
I’ve got to join the rat-race,
before I’m just a rat.
I’ve got to make myself someone,
before everyone sees me as nothing.

But I still believe that
a no one is the everyone,
that a loser is still the real winner.

I still believe in delusional dreams,
and a teenage sense of hope.
I still place all my faith into you.

 

The Brink of Forever
Written by: Alex Sandell

I’ll never forget that nursing home bed.
The way it trapped you, oppressed you
and made you so cold.
I’ll never forget the person you were.
Your dry sense of humor, smile
and the way that you made me laugh.

I would have done anything to save you from death.
You were not happy standing there,
standing alone on the brink of forever.

 

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