sonvicosays said: Heyy, do you ever provide feedback/help/whatnot for poems?

of course! use the ask box here - whatever you want to know about poetry or writing in general. If it’s not writing-related, fear not! ask me whatever you like and I’ll answer it. I always wanted to be an English teacher, but never got a degree in education (mine’s in Film Studies) - so we can treat this like Poetry/Life/Pizza 101.

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Pizza and Visine


There were horror movies

before you knew my name.

A thousand tapes recorded

when my parents were my age.

Stoned enough for car rides

and stolen-HBO for days.

An exorcism, a doll,

a maniac in a lake -

Pizza and Visine

cutting through the haze.

Where is Corbin Bernsen?

Still drilling away the pain?

There were horror movies

before we fell in love -

Before the town diner

stopped waiting on us.

My second birthday was

recorded over for

some static and The Omen

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Michael J. Fox


I was dressed like prom-scene Teen Wolf

in my wayfarers and white suit. Halloween

2002 and no one had a clue what I was

supposed to be. When the cool kids

threw Bomb Bags into the “Sleepy Hallow”

dance, I was already in the woods - a tall

boy in a bag, trying to drink through

the mask. They gave me a prompt, told

me to write about my life in ten lines or

less. I wrote “I would call it a mess,

but that implies I’m clean to begin with.”

So I got counseling and detention.

We’re banned from the next dance-

me and a kid who decided to come

to Halloween as Ray Charles with

brown paint covering his skin. Offensive.

What would Michael J. Fox think of him?

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The Last Burger King.


I rewound The Exorcist as I gave

you a minute to recover the gap

year from your graduation speaker.

My dad has this garage that he’s

still paying rent on, and if it’s not

too sad to smoke pot in garages in

your late twenties, maybe we can

re-work our resumes. I’ll add “78

OKCupid dates” you can add,

"Had some rent … never paid."

You asked about Linda Blair, 

but my VCR fucked up the tape.

Did you know in the 90’s, they

decided on themes for every

Burger King? In the whole country,

only two were ever built. This one

is “Under the Sea” which is why

we’re in a plastic submarine with

Whopper crumbs on our knees.

I hung a Scarface poster in the

name of the American Dream,

at least the version I remember

from MTV Cribs when I was 18.

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How The News Got Out About my Surgery Last Summer


These blue eyes will

never be blue again-

Now they’re rust-red,

drugs and anger and

sleep deprivation.

I subscribed to the

news for a monthly

fee - It cost me my

best parts, parts that

still believed.

One more time you can

hold my clammy hand.

But these hands will never

be unsure again.

Have you ever seen

that curtain, held open

by the ignorant? Behind

it is a surgeon with a

tremor, waiting with

some scissors. The

cure left a crooked

scar, an embarrassing

part of every summer.

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this is a poem I wrote about a really, really cold girl and a boy who wanted her to get better.

follow me on twitter

buy my books on Amazon

buy my rare first book, Two Wrongs Make a Vice

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nick orsini, formerly readattheshow

AdorkableLife is not a blog. What I put here, while some of it is deeply personal, most is universal and based on truths and realities we all see and feel every day. I’ve tried to limit my personal thoughts on this site to when people ask me things or when I’m feeling something I can’t quite write a verse about. Even then, I save most of those things for Thought Catalog. More often, I talk to somebody. Now I’m talking to you.

I want to tell you a story.

Read More

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a cold transplant performed in an outdated kitchen.


I fell in love with a girl I could not keep warm.

No matter how I tried, all five-foot-five of me

could not keep out the cold. There are saviors

in books, then there are boys who can’t drive

stick. When you need one, you get the opposite.

Hand-in-freezing-hand, lips pushed on freezing

lips, I would dig to hell for the favor of warming

the blood under my skin. If I could just boil and

evaporate, I would matter in every state - best

of all, she could finally feel me on her face.

There is a line to be saved, a line and a list,

same as it is when you’re waiting for a pig

heart to be transplanted. The animal within

those survivors is how I saw her at the end.

She just needs one new organ and she will

ignite like a cheap burner- slowly at first, then

the rest with my lighter. But I can’t drive her

to that clinic; I myself am just too sick.

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Nine Hundred Pages About a King.

I got some new followers on here. Here’s a poem, which is how this blog started, how it continues, and how it will never die. Follow me.

There is a book called The History

of Fridays with a foreword by green

strings on my knockoff Flying-V -

with a dedication to the Whole Foods

buffet. It is nine-hundred pages,

an epic tale of nothing, nowhere kings.

There are people born protagonists,

and footnotes we pretend don’t exist

because paragraphs should be perfect-

devoid of numbers in superscript.

We were just kids, PA’s in Yonkers,

pushing shopping carts full of our

best years. We went up the food

chain because we were starving -

and when no one clips your nails,

they’re best used for climbing. At

the end, every open-window refrain

that you sang and I played, is the

background music to conversations

I wish we were having. The History of

Fridays ends differently than it starts. Hold

on loyal reader. Hold on and have heart.

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Coffee Filter Broke so I Brewed my Brains Instead

@nickorsini for the brave.

Monday Night Raw and Guardians of the Galaxy and Joyce Manor and Comic Con panel cell-phone footage and fantasy football and Real Friends and TNA iMPACT and Ring of Honor and my dog and my broken phone and my hot office and my Sharknado office calendar and wash and fold on a Monday and beef jerky from upstate and Steve Jobs and Steve Globs and the marijuana industry.

There was a United Artists theater that closed and they put all the seats by the curb. Now I watch movies in authentic movie seats that I bolted to my floor and my back is always hurting.

There was a wash and fold that closed. They gave all their best customers wafers at Christmas time. Tins and tins and tins of wafers were in a dumpster by the curb. Nothing can eat chocolate without hurting other than people, just ask the stray dogs.

Adoption day and Modest Mouse and when will Game of Thrones be finished and another top-10 on the internet with any editing and spending all my money versus saving all my money. I want to have enough to do both.

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