About 99moods

Tim D. is a poet.


How far have you come since you landed with a splat on the delivery room floor?

Your mom took one look and confirmed her earlier decision.

She had a bag packed and almost knocked over the nurse on her way out.

You started screaming and haven’t stopped since.


Over and Over

I write the same two poems


over and over.


One is called


“I’m in Love.”


The other is called


“I Hate Myself.”


They take turns,




in my head and heart,


by the season,


or the weekend,


or from one moment


to the next.






I’m sick of myself




I love you.


It eats me up from the inside out.

It burns a hole in my stomach and


leaks poison into my bloodstream.

It boils and distills in my brain,


becomes a potent and powerful wave.

It absorbs the good energy and


burns it black,

a big bang in my heart.


Do you have one of these?

Doesn’t everyone?

The End of the World

Today feels like the end of the world, so

I’m pretending that I’m high.

It’s easier that way.

I refuse reality. I will not play along.


The boulevard is smeared with piles of Oreo ice cream.

A river flows on the edge of the street and

10 year old boys race popsicle sticks.

My dad’s truck splashes by, almost hits us.


My dad doesn’t wave because

there’s work to be done.

There’s always something to do,

even while the world is dying.

All That Matters

People jump off ledges


high above the street.


Dogs get crushed by cars.


People kill people


with guns,


with knives,


with their bare hands.


Trains come off their rails and spill destruction


onto the morning commute.


Mom is screaming at her children.


Dad is in jail for selling you know what.


Your pilot is badly hung over.


You can be replaced at work.


Your poetry is god awful.


So is the music you listen to


and the movies you watch.


Your socks don’t match.


You have crumbs on your shirt.


You didn’t wash your hands.


Your teeth hurt.


You smell rank.


A beautiful bird crashes hard into the window.


The model can’t keep food down anymore.


She’s coughing blood.


The president is an asshole.


We’re all going to die.


The doctor killed his patient


because he checked Facebook


during open heart surgery.


Mom and Dad are divorced now.


The children hate them.


The house is on fire.


He drinks too much.


She’s crazy on drugs.


Rich, white men pass laws to make themselves richer.


Someone shoots one of them in the face.


The sky glows danger.


The best player on your team just shredded his knee.


You slip and fall down the basement stairs.


Your arm snaps like a pencil.


Your 2 year old drowns in the neighbors’ pool.


All of this is happening,


all day,


every day.


This is the world we live in.


But I don’t care about


any of it.


All that matters to me


is this tiny, gray kitten






from the patio door.