Father. Academic Advisor. Musician. Writer. My real name is Jesse Balogh.
Do you like things to be loosey-goosey? Or, do you like things to be tighty-whitey? Do you like plenty of fabric to stash in your pants?
By Rowan Finley 7 years ago in Poets
If only I had abs... everyone would stop and stare. If only I had abs... I sure would feel rare! If only I had abs... I'd look so great on the beach.
A poem written well is like an orgasmic release, may the carefully placed words of this poem never cease. Leaving you breathless and calm,
I can hear your heart beat, as we lay here together on loveseat. I didn't think that God made people like you, but the test of time has proven true.
Some rose up fast Others took on a slower pace The dice was cast Some were holding onto an ace Degrees meant little or much
We sit together in comfy home. Picking the words apart with a fine toothed comb. What did the writer mean? What kinds of things had he seen?
There once was a grim creeper; He used to be quite the sleeper, Until one day he awoke from Death's first kiss, Up from the darkest abyss.
We three brothers went separate ways Through life we plunged, sifting through the maze One of us, led to instruct youthful minds
You're broken and beautiful. I know you don't believe me, just wait, you see. That dysfunctional family you came from, who offered you no hope, or useful crumb,
A cash advance? This wild money dance. Pay check to pay check. Feeling like a wreck. Sick of the grind. Just wanna free the mind.
I failed again and now I have to somehow keep living with myself. Nobody told me that adulthood would be so hard. Nobody told me how do deal with a Baker Act incident for someone close.
Doctor, Dear Doctor Don't pretend like you know it all Doctor, Dear Doctor I am a person, not a rag doll Doctor, Dear Doctor
