I miss poetry

I miss poetry 
In the way I miss cheez-its with salsa and melted cheese
Something so gross its pleasurable like the 
Feeling of the Queen’s crop upon my ass as I beg for more. 
I miss the way it moves in my mouth, 
Poems of Poe, Frost, Whitman, Shakespeare, Cummings, and Angelo
Setting of a mental orgasm that leaves me quaking and trembling unable 
To form any word other than fuck because my mind has been blow
To the fifth circle of Niverna, the way a good joint and 
Vinyls of AC/DC leave you boneless during long Indian Summers 
As you think, life can not get better than this. 

I miss poetry
I miss it in the way I miss church
A place of comfort, a home, a place were words were 
Unjudged and scripted as they flew off the tongue to 
Hang in the air swaying back and forth like a hung man 
Condemned to always stay there. 

I miss poetry
In the way I miss my ex friends
Recalling the better times that we had only to be torn 
Apart by stupidity and hormones. 

But most of all, 
I miss poetry because its something I can’t
Ever let go off. 

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Outsider

I do not belong.
The bright colors of laughter taunt me
As I shuffle through the day, tones of gray
Clouding vision and mind, leaving a mono-shaded world
That I trudge through.

I have never belonged.
Always on the outside, watching as people
Dashing by, weaving connections into a warm blanket
Leaving me to shiver in loneliness

Outsider, outcast,
Unsure how to belong,
Unsure if I truly wish to belong,
The inner me, hidden like a changing caterpillar
Always covered in masks and costumes,

Ever changing always hiding,
Outcast, through and through,
I wonder if I’ll truly belong.