Self-Censorship

There’s nothing like that post-ejaculation clarity
to balance the books and put things in perspective.

The world’s most wild, raving, perverse passions
instantaneously dissipate into a serene transparency
of embarrassment
and shame
that in the absence of primal itches
mean the most honest of all our selves
exposed and no longer self-censored
revealed to an empty room of weeping tissues.

Ginsberg did it best:
balding, rotting Ginsberg
his poems as barefaced mirrors
that take no prisoners and no liberties with himself;
when I read I squirm
uncomfortable in such unflinching honesty
but with no reason to be
it’s poetry it’s unwavering it’s truth
which is what I want to be.

Sometimes I think of doing horrible things
sometimes horrible things I’ve done
I think I’m more important than anyone else alive
I know it’s true
I freely judge without reason
and look down on people with cigarettes
but discrimination’s wrong and of course I’m not one of those
sometimes I jack off twice a day
even when I don’t want to I’ll do it ‘cause I’m bored
I’ll only be your friend if you’re attractive
and everyone wants to be my friend
why wouldn’t you?

What an overweight shuddering mess of sickly ego
hair falling out teeth uneven and unwhite
everyone wants to be my friend
do you?