poetry

THE CURSE

EMOTE YOU MOTHER FUCKER!

I’m a believer and I believe, oh

I do believe, I do. Nonetheless, it seems

I can’t stop the

overflow from this guttural heart,

the incessant CURSING, it is like

a curse, it really is.

OH GOD, that’s what I say all day,

all night, OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD

PLEASE.

HELP.

ME.

And then, I sit down, alone and quiet for the first time

in 24 solid gold hours on

a  cheap stained couch, yearning and I mean YEARNING for

some sort of literary release, that profound moment

that I am we are always searching for, and all

I can think, on repeat, is

this

one

line:

EMOTE YOU MOTHER FUCKER!

It figures, it really does.

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