Underground poetry and apologies

THIS IS A CUTE PUPPY YOU HAVE TO FORGIVE ME

      OHMYGOSHI'MSOSORRYICOMPLETELYMISSEDTUESDAYSPOSTAAHHHH! Ok, ok,  I'm good now. I sincerely apologize  for the disruption in our regularly scheduled programing folks. But it isn't my fault. I was at Magic kingdom until 1:00 a.m, and was wayyyy to exhausted to really write anything. Besides, I had no good ideas for posts anyway. Next week the nerd day post will be SUPER EXTREMELY AMAZING. I promise. It'll be like skydiving with sharks into a pool of crocodiles on crack. Who are also werewolves. And have machetes. But less, you know, dangerous. And stuff 

MOVING INTO LITERARY DAY

   I love underground poetry. I know, I know. It sounds pretentious and snooty and hipster-esque. However, you cannot deny the beauty of the tortured soul expressing it's  self on paper. I went to a poetry reading with a friend a couple  weeks ago, and it was amazing. My favorite one by far was called "If Poems Could Kill" I think. I don't know (You're amazing Rhianna. Not the singer, the girl who wrote the poem). It was one of the most angry gorgeous things I've ever heard. My friend who invited me read a poem she'd written about depressing caffeine and  a story about the earthquake/tsunami in Japan. Rhianna's boyfriend played a song for her, which was ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE. As for myself, I couldn't write poetry to save my life. But you know

whatever