Insubordinate Prose

I never get what I want when I want what I want

because my want all looks the same.

I never say what I mean when the time comes around,

I never say what I mean to say.

If all you can think is how great they can write

and your pen will never mean a thing,

then the most you deserve is a boring little room and a condescending speech from me.

Verbously it ebbs and adjectively it flows

in a bright bubbly hubble of flight.

Sentimentally it sticks if the words never fit,

sentiment is just salt on rye. 

The shoes are never filled for imaginary men

with imaginary friends like mine.

Those who hate authority and can't connect emotionally,

but we walk and we spit and we act and we lean like everything's better than fine.

So if you can't find your mode at home all alone

or in public or in a line,

then just smile and sift through insubordinate riffs about difference and scolding

and preaching and romance and preoccupied shallowness just like mine.