To know what you know you have to know what you don't know.

They say that writers should write what they know.

What do I know?

I know that there are 24 hours in a day,

though part of that is night

and the only star that doesn't sit in its sky

is the most important.

At least to earth.

I know that billion of people live on that earth.

And that no matter how much I donate to charity

only a few matter to my world.

I know that my world is only big in my head.

I know that my head likes to think it's unique,

yet nothing is unique,

and I simply enjoy pretend.

I know that pretend will never be reality,

still I try to make it in my notebook.

I know that my notebook is full of blanks

because I can only stitch rhymes.

I know that rhymes are a doomed fate

and I'll most likely be stuck with a coffee pot.

I know that I don't drink coffee black,

but I claim to take it strong.

As if that being true is deserving of a trophy.

I know that the only trophy I ever got

was for kicking a black and white ball down a field,

and that with the past years of neglect

it found its way to the trash.

I know that if someone were to look through my garbage

they'd find photos of the chubby cheeked child I once was.

Still full of curious questions

and imagination.

I know that my imagination scares me

thanks to the possibility that its fading colors

will some day become a blank page

of my adulthood.

And growing up fuels my fear.

I know that actual fear

releases natural chemicals in your brain,

and phobias

release unnatural chemicals.

I know that my mom cautions, "fluoride is a pesticide."

And here I thought

brushing my teeth is good.

I know that good isn't a real word.

That situations are ether shit or sunshine,

and mushad

is the only in between.

I know that being the middle child

means I do things myself.

Which is why it baffles me

that I can't do what I want to do most.

Because I don't know what I don't know.

I know it's long, but someone please read this!!!!! I'm begging you, take the time to tell me what you think!!!!

I Met it on the Beach

Monsters are real

And they live on the beach.

Of course, they're invisible

and don't make a peep.

Except when they growl,

And snarl,

And howl real loud.

They're eating

Dead seagulls that lie on the ground.

True story. I"m just walking on the beach in Maine and THIS happens.

The Old Man

it's raining

it's pouring

the old man is soaring

He ate a goat

and had a smoke

and couldn't get up in the morning.

Having Left

The leaves in the street

Scamper in the wind,

And sound like tiny feet.

I wade in grass,

Doing the normal chores

Since a while back

The chores normal kids do,

In a place that feels

So deliciously new.

It's so bright here, green,

Without worry for what

Fearful days bring;

Questions like that

Exist lesser so now.

It's that, in fact

Why I like these chores,

So tedious and long...

I'm doing chores that normal kids do.

The Stench of Man

Farmers smell like

sweat and mud and poop,

mixed with

dust and old hey and overalls,

along with

rocks and animal and sunshine.

Also known as the stench of man...

I wrote this for you Kase.