is it real

as a poet i have
a tendency to
misinterpret
emotions &
moments
alike,
like
for
example -
blah blah blah
yadda yadda yadda
finish the song, re-
lieve the bladder
of emotions -
the alley
is dark
and memories
aren't accurate,
can't portray the
pain - the terror -
the reality of a poet
living with a feeder -
no better way to put
it and yet it seems
even that is too
slight to actualize
the moment to moment
moments of setting the
floor on fire in a fit
of rage. sleep, i tried
to dream and the more i
did the more it seemed
i wasn't doing the
right thing.

from a distance -
safe for a poet -
i reflect and it
seeps into my
being day
after day
in some ways
it's dirty, but
in other ways it's
good because i can
purge the past and
learn from it.

and that,
my dear friends,
is better than
a fly butt.