Neil
I listen to Neil Hilborn on Spotify
Because I like to feel like a self-entitled hipster
But can’t afford a record player.
The breathy shouts of slam poets
Sound a lot like falling in love-
If love was a sledgehammer
Smashing repeatedly into my sternum.
I’m attracted to emotional self-mutilation.
What teenage poet isn’t?
After all, happy people don’t write good poetry.
Happy people write sappy bull about
“Eyes like summer storms”
And call it art.
Depressed poets write about dead people
And the boy who swore he loved me when I was fifteen
And all the stars I’ve felt blink out inside of me.
Poetry is to suicide
What nicotine gum is to cigarettes:
It never quite dulls the craving,
And I’m still not allowed to indulge at work.
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