Most women are cooks But a man who cooks Is a chef She cooks over and over To feed the masses

Scratchy plaid blanket Red with yellow stripes Hot and itchy underneath Claustrophobia strikes Purple and blue prisms

Nothing makes people flee Like reading them poetry They value it in theory But please don’t make them read Surprise me with your verse

Antisocial tendencies Amplified by sickness I can people watch Yet I can’t people talk I am lonely

I cannot divide My heart Into four pieces Equally Geometrically

I wallow in my sadness As it pools up It has not swallowed me Who floats above its surface This surface

¿Te duele Cuándo piques tu dedo? No Lo hago por pura diversión Lo que duele

Didn’t they know that people cared? That they were loved? Why didn’t someone tell them?

Good secret Bubbles inside Let me out Bad secret Indigestion

Bags full of diapers Cars waiting in line Smell coming from the load Ashamed it was mine He noticed my insulin pump