Poetry Corner – Jobless Masses

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Jobless Masses

You, the jobless masses are the scum of the earth
The disease of life
The losers that roam the streets in perpetual hopelessness
Depressive, downtrodden, delusional, destitute
Why not kill yourselves?
Life would be so much easier

No more hanging out at the local Tim Hortons
Staring into the oblivion of your stale coffee
No more asking for change on the frigid streets, bumming a cigarette
No more harassing the good, hardworking people of society
No more taking advantage of those who deserved to get where they are
No more Airbnb-ing the local library

If only street cleaners could brush you up off the sides of the streets
along with all the other discarded trash
If only you were jailed or shot
for being a bane on the rest of us

Stop bothering us!
Leave us alone!
Go get a job!
Go shave that disgusting beard!
Go take a shower!
Go write a resume!
Just leave me the fuck alone!

You’re the acne on a flawless face
The scar on a perfect body
The blemish on pristine skin
The callouses on soft hands
The dirt under our fingernails
The open sore on an infected wound
The herpes, syphilis and gonorrhea of the city
The waste running through the sewers

These thoughts enter my mind vicariously
As I look at the busy masses walking by
And I wonder
When will someone notice?

Poetry Corner – Morning Commute

Morning Commute

    Tin snake, barely awake, twisted tunnels, pushed and funnelled, crammed in, tuna can, sea of frowns, furrowed brows, claustrophobic, body frozen, anxiety, stranger eyeing me, death stare, vacant glare, guy's sweaty, eyes heavy, morning breath, feel like death, faces glued to hand devices deathly afraid to look up for they may accidentally make eye contact: phone screens, Kindle screens, sudoku screens, newspaper screens, delay announcement, PA shouting, confused expressions, rising tension, gonna be late shit, won't make it, gonna be fired, brain is tired, missing my test, gonna get an F, Finch Station, arrived at my destination... A sigh of relief, now do it again five days a week

Poetry Corner – Normal

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Normal

He had the quintessential face; I didn't like it. It fit in too much. I could already picture his voice - friendly and a little too high - and picture his life: hard working, dull, not extraordinary. This man represented everything I hated, everything I never wanted to become.. I won't fit into this eternally recycled and worn-out mold. I felt violent all of a sudden. I'm normally peaceful, calm - but right now I could just flail out at him and whack him right in the face. 
To teach him a lesson: stop being so normal.

His normal wife. His normal hair. His normal job. His normal... Normal. I needed drugs to hit his normal. He probably used to be a cool guy, or hip back in his day, and he too never thought he'd become Normal. His life is over. His kids will continue on the tradition of Normal, and so on. But if you don't become normal, you're ostracized, alienated, abandoned, forgotten, to be dealt with the hands of the law. But I'd still rather not be normal. I'd rather be dead; I'd rather be me.

Poetry Corner – HigH

HigH

A Five Part Dissertation

Wrote this when I was high on the streetcar...crazy thoughts lol 


Innocence 
The feeling that I was slowly moving closer and closer to them.. Or were they getting closer to me? I couldn't tell. I just stared straight ahead and tried not to make eye contact.. But they knew. At least I think they knew. The young daughter kept looking up at me and smiling.. A "knowing smile." But how could she know at such a tender age? Does innocence equal all knowing? Perhaps. I just stared back and smiled.


Melting 
Melting... Into my own neck.. My own body. I've become slumped over with numbness, with no feeling or care for the outside world. Slowly disappearing into myself. Will I ever come out again?


Streetcar 
Voices.. Parents yelling.. Children screaming.. Babies crying.. All melting into one cacophony. People looking down into the abyss of their phones.. Finding nothing.. Reading books.. Reading nothing.. Listening to their headphones.. Drowning out this tired world...


Death
The streetcar making its escape out of the tunnel.. Into the light.. Like a near death experience, leaving one's body and floating above it.. Looking back and seeing nothing but unrecognizable concrete. When can I get high again?


World 
Gasping for air.. Trying to take one last toke of elixir.. Too late though.. THE PEOPLE ARE HERE