He Wants to be a Young God

His randomness is calculated

Underneath every smile is a smirk

A sharp silver tongue

Spouting sewage and rainbows

For the satisfaction

Of attention and admiration


Somehow his hubris

Allows him to brave the elements

Draining the best out of others

To make up for the worst in himself

He believes he’s a new branch of science

But he really isn’t that complicated


He is a champion

Of the blame game

Dropping names

Breaking hearts

Dipping his toes in everything

Giving them up

Like passion means nothing

As deep as the shallow end

Of a baby’s swimming pool


He used to show his humanity

Without shame

But like an anchor

Weighing down hidden treasure

He’d rather ride the bandwagon

Through life

Through town

Follow the crowd

And get lost in it


He wants to be worshipped

He wants to be the victim

He wants to be feared

He wants to be adored

He wants to be the idol of a religion

He wants to lead a revolution

By casually spinning wicked webs

Of illusions


He plays time

Like an out of tune piano

Struts through halls

With a disguise

Of angelic eyes


He considers people above him

As beneath him

When his equals fly higher

Than his airhead personality

Suddenly, they’re nothing

Unless they follow him


When a girl becomes a woman

Her own woman

He calls her fat

Shames her choices

Diminishes her intelligence

All behind her back

Files her away

As a nuisance

Unless he realizes he needs her

Misses her

And expects her to come crawling back

Only when she’s fanning his ego

Is she not a threat


Little does he know

That his charm is as permanent

As a temporary tattoo

His ultimate weakness was his failure

To recognize her strength

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

His possessiveness and inner ugliness

Are transparent

When one steps back

And examines his fool’s gold

It’s actually hilarious

He wants to be a young god

He thinks he is a young god

Faux modesty can only get him so far

He needs a lesson

In creative imagination

And a large dose of reality

He is not immortal

He has become one of those “basic bitches”

That one of his hobbies is to complain and joke about


Holes in his jeans

King of the bar scene

Thinks he knows everything

About me

Hair slicked back

Pockets sagging with cash

Thinks that’s what it takes

To please me

Callused knuckles gleaming

With blood of his enemies

Always on the hunt

For a good girl’s sanity


So let me get this straight…

I’m a mystery

Because I won’t let you pop my cherry

I’m boring

If I’m not spending time with you

And you’re thrilling

Because you come with big things

And everyone else wants a taste

But time for you to listen to me

I know better

Than to throw it all away

For a jacket made of leather


Tall and broad

Gives zero fucks about cops

Thinks it’s funny

To stalk me

Jameson on his breath

Shitty swag in his step

Thinks I’ll automatically

Let him get to know me

Always believing

That the wrong way is right


To him

Harassment is entertaining

To him

Being polite is exhausting

To him

He has it all figured out

Wins life’s wars

His gun is fully loaded

Shining and smoking

But his soul… is empty

And his love… means nothing