Wow guys, it has been two entire months since my last entry in my long running, albeit not very popular, series "Crooked Box Poems." I'm no longer in order. I wasn't writing as frequently as

I've started getting more political in my poems. If I recall correctly, this one is insanely verbose and may or may not earn me some red flags from the U.S. government. We'll see. It's been a hot minute

So, this poem was part of a collaboration I was slated to do with a few Steemians, but ultimately they decided that it just wasn't what they were looking for. This is probably the second most political

So, I'm skipping around a little in my blue notebook. One was (surprisingly) very TMI, called TMJ, and I think, if I post that one, it'll be at a later time. I had another small poem fragment, but I wanted

Welp, here's part two, for all you interested parties. I have this period, from 4pm to 6pm where I'm 'tutoring,' (and by 'tutoring' I mean spending 80 percent of that two hours twiddling my thumbs and

The reason for the decimal is that, well, there's a second poem. A part two. I was so enamored with my first quatrain poem (or, I dunno, bored in class) that I wrote a more in-depth second poem. I think

This is going to be a little different, because usually I post some sort of painting I'm really into to compliment the poem, but this time I've went with my friend's album art. This poem is called