Chill out, Mum

Posted: July 16, 2014 in poetry
Tags: , , , ,

bukowski2
Why does it all have to be so difficult?
My mum is upset at my poems:
I feel like I’m bolted to a rotating rack of emotional blackmail.
She hates the ones about drugs and shit and the filthy lucre of existence.
This is the very stuff of my twisted life.
Bukowski says you’ve got to be honest, you’ve got to be real,
You’ve got to let it roar out of your guts or not do it at all.
So I wish my mum would chill out,
But I’m still going to call things the way I see them-
Call a fuck a fuck, a fit a fit, a cone a cone and a 32 inch jet black mambo dildo a 32 inch jet black mambo dildo.

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