thoughts of poetry

The hardest part of picking out poems for that book I want to do is trusting my own judgement. Oh, and I used to know what the title was, and now I don't.

Here is something I found hidden amidst the untitleds while trying to figure this out:

let us talk of perfection in the words of angels
is there anything you believe in anymore
let's talk of danger one day at a time
for its the monsters under the bed we must deal with now
oh, my sad one, we fight for the same thing
why are we always choosing the wrong sides
why must we talk of leaving this world behind

I'm a bad person

I'm sorry I'm not sorry you're 30 pounds overweight. I'm sorry my first instinct is to to tell you to try living in my fat ass for a while. I'm sorry I'm not more sympathetic. Please don't think I don't want to be.