Through Pains of Glass

I could stop a bullet with my glasses.

They’re bulky, odd,

but not so much as my face is.

Whoever deemed this shape a heart

needs a good shot to the head.

Obtuse or abstruse would have been more blunt,

but that’s never the way the world wants it,

 is it?

Everyone’s all fake and frills and

I’d keel over and die if someone were ever really real,

and a change of pace would give me

a god damned heart attack.

And that.

What ridiculous name,

a heart attack.

How about saying it like it is?

It’s a heart faint from supporting your fat, unhealthy ass.

It exhausted itself from pumping around fry grease and bacon fat.

How about a glass of water for once,

maybe get a little blood flowing back?

Oh, but what’s the use of bitching?

It’s not like anyone’s ever really listened.

I’m a joke,

idealistic at best.

Too young to be taken seriously

and too old to be considered cute.

I’m that pound age,

Where I sit and watch puppies get picked

and charity cases go home to places without rent.

How life seems so meaningless,

all misconstrued, and bent.

Fucking animals,

couldn’t get a single thing right if you were castrated by it.

And now, I can’t even remember what got me started.

Oh yeah,

my glasses…

They’re horrendous,

all kinds of odd, and  they’re bulky,

and bent.


If there is anything that gives a good laugh more than anything, it’s a hypocrite. We all know ‘um and we sure as hell don’t love ‘um, but aren’t they fun to watch? So, in honor of the hypocrites out there, that one up there was for them.

*Note: that is my intended spelling of pains. Not panes.

3 responses

  1. sweet and sour, a good combo
    i like you poem very much

    1. Thanks, Jackie! I’m glad you enjoyed the poem 🙂

  2. This hits the nail on the head after all the news of today.

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