It was never my intention
to come across as a total asshole,
but I often find myself wondering
what kind of things I'd actually
write about if my attitude were
any different

if I had more patience, compassion
and understanding--for myself as
well as the world--
perhaps I might pen more appealing
poems; softer pieces that speak of
peace, hope and kindness, instead
of bitterness, anger and disillusion

I may take my rage out on the world,
but I don't blame people for the way
I am--
it's hard to tolerate others when
you can't even stand yourself at times

but if my poems have taught me anything,
I've definitely learned to laugh at the
little things, and not take shit so
seriously, and I must admit, my writing
has certainly earned me more attention
than if I wrote about daydreams or what
it feels like to have a broken heart...

Some people might consider my poetry
a cry for help.
Sometimes I find myself wondering
if that's a bad thing

Cynthia Ruth Lewis terrorizes the languid meth head languor of the Central Valley from it's almighty Leviathan, Sacramento.  Her chapbook is called "Piss On Your Parade" and she might be willing to sell your sorry ass a copy for cheap if you contact her at bookas6670@yahoo.com.