let’s start with my phobia
about opening the mailbox
I don’t want to go there
they all want something
I haven’t got
I’m not even close
to their demands
the stuffed shirts
pen and paper pushers
weed wackers
and pawn brokers
I pretend when I pass the mailbox
that it’s an old lover
an old love affair
that I’d rather bury
under the carpet
because the magic is gone
don’t tap me on the shoulder
cause I’m tapped out
leave me alone to shred my peace
I don’t want to share
my particular blend of insanity with you
it’ll cost you
it cost me plenty
just to keep a lid on things
to not wanna kill somebody
to not wanna kill myself
to not wanna annihilate
my neighbor cause his
TV is too loud and he doesn’t give a shit
that his commercials are polluting my airspace
I don’t want to suck up anymore
or suck it down
life sucks enough
without the constant search
for a nipple to latch onto
looking for some kind of
attachment
some kind of nourishment
something to call love
something to call home
someone to spoon with
when the cupboard is bare
© 2011
The Juice Bar 
Is that you in the picture?!
Oh no!! 🙂
Sent on the Now Network from my Sprint® BlackBerry
I can see a bare cupboard but not a bare soul
Just you a women juicy and whole
A poem in control
Thanks so much Mitch, my juicy one! 🙂
Fantastic – I totally relate!
The search for nourishment and love – you have captured the feelings and the need so well.
Thank you so much Fred!
Sent on the Now Network from my Sprint® BlackBerry