Who reads these? Did you just propose to my cousin?

 will it be
 of poetic interest
 a display of trust
 to this
 WordPress community
 of
 mostly
 sad poets
 broken from loss
 to tell you
 how i am
 nakedly
 lonely?
 or how
 nakedly
 lonely
 i am
 not that I just
 am
 naked
 and
 lonely
 but
 how
 naked
 and
 lonely
 is the
 point
 i
 want
 to make
 so very
 purposefully
 lonely

 i see
 great poem
 by guy called
 eyes + words
 cool photos
 poem about not
 being
 whole
 without this
 guy gal
 i read and think
 i want that feeling
 to have emotions
 that drive me
 to poetry
 whole stanzas
 of thought
 about what it means
 to be without
 this
 other person
 then i think
 i've had that
 and i read
 rest of poem
 think
 is this a dude
 or a chick
 then think about
 my own poems

 aren't we all
 not listening to
 basic advice?
 a new cliche
 also
 who are you all?
 is anyone reading this?
 basic advice of
 don't think about it!
 that's where you fault
 where you think about it
 write a poem about it but
 is it good?
 for us
 is it good
 for us
 to realize beauty in our pain?
 what else is there to do?
 that's a stupid question
 i guess
 but
 i wonder if you are like me
 now
 if we are similar
 or
 would we get along in a waiting room
 if we'd talk at all

 who are you talking to
 when you write
 and post?
 i imagine
 a chubby black boy
 from not here
 from colorado
 with a splotchy beard
 and my cousin
 as a girlfriend
 i imagine that
 you (hi) let yourself
 and her
 call you
 sensitive

 if you are
 there 
 i hope to meet you
 before
 you
 wed
 my cousin

 i am a phish fan
 the music is
 all about freedom
 used to believe
 that
 i was free-er
 than
 the next guy

 went to phish concert in Philly
 took shrooms
 with an old friend
 plucked up
 incoherent sentences
 from depths of my thought
 where i'm hanging
 every day
 where my feet are
 but it sounded cool to say
 that there's
 freedom
 and not freedom
 joy
 and not joy
 open and closed
 loud and quiet
 self obsessed and self loving
 peace of mind with oneself
 and poetry
 imagine
 some sort of convoluted
 strainer
 a couple
 sides and angles
 blades-ish
 think about it
 for two seconds
 and stop
 just think squeeze maybe
 you squeeze joy and not joy
 together
 and what comes out is you
 and the way you're acting
 how you are in
 every moment
 is a squeezy
 cheese
 in battle
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