Note: This is my favorite poem. I wrote it over the course of 25 minutes at 4AM. I submitted it to my creative writing class and no one understood it. I'm still trying to figure out if it's a good or bad thing.

Breakfast, February 15th

I see the world in a bowl of fruit loops-

They are generic, because I cannot afford the real thing

But its ok, the message is still there:

I see the red wheels for all that they are worth.


Of bricks molded with sugar and a sense

Of favoritism towards fires & animals & life

And the like, but not for real.

And the yellow, cool clean lemon,

Circles around its prey and plunges,

Head first,

Tail up, into the

Small puddle

With the strength of a fluffy, matted-feathered


I am overcome with

the fierceness of a great white shark

With sharpened violet teeth curled & crusted

With squishy jelly fish from

Last night's midnight snack.

The predator, a green,




Breathes slowly amongst

The poppy memorial that was

Built besides the candy-coated-sugary


My spoon stirs quietly.

Orange becomes the air.

It glows like the chemical

Poof that a (practicing)

Magician uses to foil his own


Your childhood sizzles in the pan

With the bacon, the eggs

(With a side of lard, please, ok, thank you)

Breakfast is meant to be consumed.