PBR Poem....

I wrote this poem for a PBR contest, but didn't enter it, it was just for fun....

PBR fill up my jar
Sitting here, The Brass Rail, my favorite bar
Bands, Broads, and Bourbon
A little bit country, a little bit urban
Punk Rock
Don't STOP
Bartenders, dirty jokes
Simple kind of folks
Jack Daniels or Gin
A shot, a cocktail, just dive in!
We fight, we fuck, we cuss
We raise a ruckus, we fuss

PBR is our bargain beer
All my friends are here
No one's a stranger
There's no real danger
We laugh
Even the staff
Not everyone smiles
Our loyalty will stretch for miles
PBR does not define our bar
Neither do our tattoos or scars
We have jobs
We might be slobs

The fact is, we care
How we're judged isn't fair
We invite you all
Big and Small
Fill your glass to the rim
Join this toast and don't skim
We have a great bar
We support PBR
Come back and drink again
On Purpose or a whim
We will be here everyday
Rain or shine in any way

Come in again so we can say, HEY!

CHEERS!

Today I found more random things I've written on random peices of paper....

Everyday

My life feels pointless, powerless, personal.
It is, I am, didactic.
Portrayed in unwritten words. Excuses in red smelling songs.
Hyper focused on everything while doing nothing.
Happy and depressed, happily depressed.
Torn from my own skin, unbound from limb to limb.
Extremes of mediocrity. Closing in, all around, pressured, gauged, and bound.
Fortunate to be forged and fortified with flame retardant skin.
Powerless. Impenetrable. Living.

Bartender's Curse

Flexible and familiar faces.
People I think I know, eyes, noses, mouths.
Combinations of body parts
Skin tones, expressions
I've seen them all before
I know you, NO?
We've met, YES?
Cruel jokes
People not knowing their own twins, triplets, doppelgangers.

Heart's Mental Nightmare

My love. My limerence. It's complicated. It's insane.
Pretending, trying, persuading, playing, begging, bargaining with self.
Dysfunctional and disillusioned
I scramble, squeeze, try, seize.
Stomach ache, migraine, fear, and large shoes.
Guilty, but with great commitment and love.
Temptation or multiples?
Tricks? Sick? Normal? or Ordinary?
Persecution of self wound up in private thoughts.
Invisible disease, infallible subconscious.