Writing in the Nude

I write because I feel like I’ll vomit if I don’t All those nasty and pretty and perverted things I need to see them written out For no other reason than to give myself a little Peace of mind Because when I see the words I write I know I can communicate, at least a little To see them there, my sweet pets The little dead letters to which I brought to life in a Horrific or hilarious or pointless Symphony God, the joy it gives me Through these keys flow Tiny tingly waves, like electricity Blossoming into an entity of its own Does each poem have a soul? I look at the words and I see an extension of my own My anger and disgust, my love for A beautiful guy The confusion I cradle in this Ever-changing world But yet it all stays the same The writers before me We’re all the same We take off our metaphorical clothes for you And stand Naked Humiliated Scratching our heads, just kinda hoping That you’ll understand Or at least give us some scholarship money