shit poem no.2

happy to be honest, but it makes me sad

I laugh much too loud
shed tears on my own behalf,
and tell stories too old, too long.

it makes enemies of friends
and friends of strangers (who lie briefly, with ease). 

it's a burden to speak truth
to wear the deepest shame of life on your chest
like a heart beating, bleeding
cleaning up after yourself;
an assumption
that will likely be right
since it's so well informed
(since I'm so honest).

happy to be honest, but it makes me real

faithful and untrustworthy
an inconsistant confidant
no paper to sand my rougher patches
no guarantee i did it right
or would do it right
if I were you.

i'm sorry
i could have (done it better)
but I didn't
if I'm honest.

shit poem no.3


ugly, scattered labor that produces
broken shards

and it takes forever. 

you might approach it a hundred years later to find a beautiful pattern; a pristine image painstakingly preserved in marble or wood.

only I will remember the dust I swept away

after it was all finished,
or I couldn't work on it anymore.