How Stella Got Her Groove Back

I mentioned earlier how I was having some difficulty for a few weeks writing poetry. I had lost my groove. Very concerned that this was a permanent groove loss, I sought help. And then fortuitously the blog-stalking that I so oft have to do for work led me to Hannah Miet, who is a fucking g. After some feedback on the male point-of-view poem, one comment in particular: "It sounds like an Asian preteen male wrote it", I decided I should probably revamp. Or grow a penis. Those were the options provided to me. But before my sex-change in the name of poetry, I want to take another swing at it. The new version, alternatively title "the frat boy"(I'M SORRY IT WAS TOO EASY.), explores the internal monologue of a guy at the bar with drunk girl. I was told this was more accurate(feedback: "it sounds like a dyke wrote it"), so it appears I am on the right track. So once I start demanding anal sex, I think I will finally have hit it on the head. Thoughts?

And as always, feel free to stalk me if you want to read it. And by stalk, I mean email. That would be uh, cool. Thanks.

Though I'm a bit scared to post my wittle poems on the big, bad web(outside of the confines of my 15-person facebook list for all my notes), I don't really have an excuse given that I've been published a few times. And it's only fair to post in the blogoverse what I gained from the blogoverse(stab me for the use of the term blogoverse). So, here ya go. Judge away fine fellows.

Hannah Miet is my New Muse
You're fickle and volatile
you are the pinpricks of tics
which switch my desire for
a cubicle fuck to a
toss off floor 6.
I've thought of you before.
before the daydream that fades to soft tinges
that make me drowsy at desk
touch the keys as they bend
to whatever curve my mind's run down next
Useful as a post-it note without stick,
your words fall like drip drip
of a leaky faucet
I long to express
the feeling you've never felt
except when reflecting off
conquers
you dispel all cause for concern
with a look and a wink and a
left-hand turn
look away, for I'm through with the
swerve of a crash-and-burn
learn to put out your cigarettes
on someone else's arm.