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Best Poems Written by Cole Mileaf

Below are the all-time best Cole Mileaf poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Tropical Depression

Coconut mind 
Practical 
At first thought.
But all that lays inside 
is the same milk you expected.
Sometimes the milk is worse.
My limbs flop around like a fish out of water
As I aimlessly do anything
Aimlessly everything 
On my island 
Alone.
I am able to provide myself something
Proud for a moment 
Until I remember that everyone who ever loved me
Feels bad for me.
11 years old
Fortune cookie
I pick it up
‘Continue to sit’ it read
I took it to heart
I accepted every person
And hoped they would accept me.
Why would they?
All I have is spilt milk 
Years of hammering my head
On my island 
Alone.

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The Fool

Try to think of what makes you laugh.
Is it people being hurt or people who work hard?
When you think, consider naughty words and sin.
What is cheap and what is classy?
Classy comedian is an oxymoron. 
Just ask the experts.

Who are the experts?
Socrates never made me laugh.
Philosophical whimsy is an oxymoron.
Developing whimsy is quite hard. 
With a two drink minimum, events should be classy.
So much of the field is surrounded by sin.

A comic cannot thrive until bathed in sin.
Just ask the experts. 
A comedian is seldom classy. 
Disheveled people make us laugh.
Living life like a dirty worm can be hard. 
Clean dirt is an oxymoron.

Happy clown is an oxymoron.
In a cocaine fueled decade of sin
everybody works hard.
Who are the experts?
When everybody works hard, people laugh.
Is cocaine cheap or classy?

There is a distinction between expensive and classy. 
Funny CEO is an oxymoron.
When the bar has no vermouth, it makes us laugh.
Ordering a martini in a comedy club should be a sin. 
Just ask the experts.
Some of the best comics live hard. 

Surviving running through the streets aflame is hard. 
Being entertained by the story is not classy.
Who are the experts?
Ignorant expert is an oxymoron.
Elegant individuals have to hide their sin.
Sin makes us laugh.

Classy comedy is not an oxymoron,
though comedy is synonymous with sin.
Think about what makes you laugh.

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21

In 
Life 
There are
Decisions
Right choice is unclear
Rock, paper, scissors, won’t cut it.

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Yuppies

Being raised on gold
Makes silver seem like garbage
So make a change then.

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The Problem

Privilege coming from the man in equality armor
Unheard of by the layman.
They say things like
“well you don’t quite understand”
And 
“this is what you need”
I am sure it’s not what I want 
But 
I don’t quite understand

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Nowadays

Eating grapes on the vine while being carried
was once a prime example of hedonism.
Only a king could live like that,
some fat guy with a crown of laurels,
a real Julius Caesar type. 

In my room,
the storage spaces are as empty
as the amount of dirty laundry scattered about the floor is large.
On my desk:
assignments,
old plays,
empty notebooks,
drug paraphernalia,
music ranging from blues to punk in formats ranging from cd to record,
pills with my name on em’,
a black wool cap with holes in it,
a 10’ TV I never got working, 
and my glass chess set
is broken on the ground beneath.
In the kitchen,
I run my finger lightly down my granite counter tops that dad bought me
creating a large mass of ash on my nail.
I blow what I can into the atmosphere 
and save the rest for waking up tomorrow.
In my fridge,
I hold milk 
and a large suckling pig with an apple in its mouth.
Occasionally I will bathe the pig in the milk
if that wasn't obvious.
A pig is good and all but I would never eat a whole pig.
I throw out the leftovers. 
In my freezer,
I have TV dinners stacked to the brim.
All kinds I’m sure.
I like TV dinners because even though you gotta heat em’ up,
they last forever, 
and they come with a tray.
You don’t have to use a paper plate.
You still have to use plastic utensils though.
I kind of consider myself a foodie,
I will eat a limb straight off of a living creature
if I see one large enough. 

And what am I 
but a typical
American,
college 
grunt.

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Nice To See You Again

Again with that hardly heart wrenching face. Nice try but I’m not who you thought I was. Whatever that is. Hot coffee at my chest. That was a little much. I may have spilt my ink but at least I stopped it from leaking off the paper. Yours having well surpassed the threshold of the table is left in a puddle on the floor. I hadn’t anticipated that. Yet again my judgement was clouded. Lessons never learned. Hearts tear like ripping off a scab for the unscrambled. Good people can be scrambled. I know that now. Went to your house that day. Lessons never learned. Ink stained table. You break down your false persona to screams and cracks while I churn with anxiety in this metal box you created for us. Her lighter cracks to the sound of leave and I’m a dead women. I seem to already be a dead man. This is beyond me, beyond family, beyond doctors, beyond lawyers, beyond government intervention. To be utterly screwed is a harsh mistress. She calls upon a storm of physical violence and broken thought processes. When her life was thoroughly drowned in the rains of her storm. She set me free. Good people can be scrambled. I’ll write that down.

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Topical

There is something to be said for the upper middle boy who fails.
You know the one 
Going through his twenties 
Supported by his parents 
but can’t commit to a job if it killed him. 
If his father had more connections he would get him one
but he is not as rich as he seems to many. 
He turns to rebellion and escape 
rather than work and reality. 
He feels empathy toward every living being. 
Even if they hurt him.

The poor man who fails 
was expected to fail.
Going through his twenties 
his family life was hard, 
he was battered and ill fed.
His anger toward the way he was brought up causes him harm.
He commits violent crimes using his past as an excuse. 
He has to work two jobs
both of which he struggles at
yet his bosses let it slide due to his situation.

The upper middle boy is spit at by everyone he once loved.
He is judged by every class as bad individual. 
Including the poor man who fails. 
“Why isn’t he successful? His life was fine.”
These are the kind of people the poor man who fails hates.
The poor man who succeeds,
dawned in his fur coat,
spits his golden tooth at the upper middle boy’s face. 
He would beat him up 
but he has people to do that for him now. 
The rich man 
from his large isolated tower
may even give money to the poor man who fails 
(though probably not)
but the upper middle boy has to pay the rich man.
The boy’s father 
sanity dwindling
reluctantly provides the money yet again. 
The upper middle class man who succeeds
stays in his cubicle 
aware of the situation the boy is in
but does not do a thing.
The upper middle class man somehow envies the upper middle boy
as the cubicle has not sucked his empathy away. 
The boy weeps on his potential to change. 

“Why isn’t he successful? His life was fine.”
What was his life like?
I bet you don’t even know?
All he knows is that he is a failure and he always will be.
He does not see room for change 
he has already failed himself. 
There is no improvement only downfall. 
Be nicer to him
or he’ll vote Trump.

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Friendship Threshold

I see you from far away
You’re that girl from Steve’s party
All I know about you 
You get really drunk 
All you know about me
Up to speculation
We approach each other
Fumble with appliances
I put in my headphones
You look at your phone
We have sunken to a lower connection
‘No hello acquaintances’				
Labeled 
And 
Stamped
We go our separate ways

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Stimulation Deficit

There is a night when
even the trees are monsters.
I stare all night long.