I made you

i made jake and a bird

Ode to Snow princess

jake and snow princess sit by my side.
they just ate my pasta
and here they reside
snow princess, your beauty astounds me
your necklace feels like boobs.
the end.

Trapped in the Elevator

Creepy heavy breathing man wears a rainbow scarf
Creepy heavy breathing man makes me want to barf
He is so fat that i must shout
"Please gauge my eyes out!"(Creepyheavybreathingman)
and perhaps my ears
because he appears
to have some trouble breathing.

Pimple Migraine

He walks in late. With his cambridge worn sweatshirt, scruffy beard and greasy hair. He asks for a "writing utensil", in that strange accent I'm so accustomed to hearing. And then I see it. the pimple. the pimple just asking to be popped. Sitting there on the side of his face in it's ready-to-burst glory. I want to jump over the desk and squeeze it. Popping a pimple is like taking a shit. It hurts and takes a little pushing, but after it's over, the feeling is so satisfying. Maybe I'm the only human being who can admit that taking a shit is satisfying, but it's the truth so there you have it. Anyway, his face is like the moon, or something like it, full of craters from previous pus filled pimples. I am seriously fantasizing about popping this pimple. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? Obviously this is all I can think about for my entire three hour class.
Crazy.

Again

Apparently all I can do is describe people efficiently, preferably people on the subway.

Two individuals waiting for the Q train. Both look like they could be a boy or a girl. Both have old or young faces. Very confusing. Dirty clothes from the eighties... is that the look they're going for? or are they homeless, or runaways. Or maybe they shop at Goodwill. Boy-girl carries a book-bag. Girl-boy is wearing an irish cap. Girl-boy and boy-girl have southern accents. or maybe they just talk funny. Sister-brothers? or I just saw them kiss and i know they are not sister-brothers. Unless their accent was really southern. I follow them. Or they follow me. or maybe I'm just nosey and I will admit this fact right now. on the train... they are hard-core eating face. Girl-boy-old-young-sister-brothers from the 80s... weirdest thing I have ever seen.

fat girl

she's pissed off that she has to keep giving all the answers. She shakes her head at all the wrong ones. No one cares as much as she does. She's like the Asian kid from middle school. With the pencil cases and the bookbags. Her face is red and splotchy. She looks like a squirrel. Her voice is high like a small child and she dresses like a hacidic Jew. I wonder if she's happy. She lent me a pen. I don't think I like her... I'm not wearing shoes... Or underwear.

Girls,

don't forget to shave your legs,

or brush your hair,

or do your nails,

tweeze your eyebrows.

Thought flow

Why are you thinking about that you shouldn't even be thinking about that. She should be forgotten, he forgotten as well. Keep talking, talk about it some more because i don't want to hear it. i think i do though, i probably want to hear it. i definitely ask for it, or think i do. i think i ask for a lot of things but it's not my fault. people tell me it's not my fault. i never believe them. and what if i asked for it, did i ask for it?

I don't ask for a lot of things but maybe this is an exception.

I am the sauceless hot wing.

[I went on the train and saw an older girl carrying this crazy pop-art piece.
I thought she was cool.
I wanted to be like her when I was older.]

I always wonder if I'll ever make an impact on someone's life like that.

The man on the oatmeal box

A man gets on the subway car. He's wearing a quaker hat and dress pants. Middle aged maybe. There are several seats available, yet he looks straight at me and sits down.
He is holding a manila envelope with several smaller envelopes inside. The envelope has four letters on it. LSTP .. LFGT... something like that, it makes no sense to me.
He leans over and looks up at my face.
His hands begin fluttering around. He's muttering to himself like a schizophrenic. He rubs one hand then the other, He rubs one hand then the other.
He reminds me an umpire at a baseball game.
Whenever I move, his eyes follow. He is not looking at anyone else on the train.
My heart is beating very fast.
I move to another seat. He still stares.
He rubs one hand, then the other.
He gets up after several stops.
He comes to the window next to where I am sitting.
He slaps himself in the face, steps back, and follows mine as the train pulls away.

Never Say Never

pretty soon our hearts will stop beating. We won't feel pain or love again.