Poetic Imagination

Two Essays

My name is former needle junky. Does this make you want to employ me? I could be more qualified, yet cause of my battle scars I am an outcast.

My name is fat person. Does this make you ignore me? Why cause I may or may not eat more than you?

My name is pot head. Do you consider me dumb. Maybe even a retard?

My name is husband. Maybe I have made mistakes, I am man enough to admit I was wrong.

My name is tweaker. Why because I stay up late writing my poems for all to bear my soul.

My name is father. Not to children but to Chihuahuas. Do you find this quite odd?

My name is Jaystone. Nickname given to me by my Brother Scott rest his soul.

My name is unattractive. At least to myself as I peer into the mirror seeing my faults.

My name is Jason Lewis. First name given me by my mother, rest her soul. Lewis by my father rest his as well.


Truthfully I don’t give a damn if you like me, cause I’m sure at least one person does. So may I politely say…..I am me.

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Days pass into night. A tweakers realism. What is the price we pay? For what to stay awake. We are awake to be depressed in this life which we stumble across. Ever so wanting the more with which we can’t achieve. We are sold another mans dream. This is the fucking American way. Buy, sell, make profit. Why? Because consumerism is what compels use. Thank you Madison Avenue for all the shit we have bought. We have to buy storage sheds to keep our shit. Does this amuse you? Does it make you feel grand that you have more than what someone else has? Why fuck yeah! It is the American way.