Real1 Poetry

Real1 Poetry Sometimes I write, I call it poetry even though there’s no specific structure present, but you may find the stringing of words together poetic.

I want to see your art, I want to hear your music, I want to create a space to be your authentic self without judgement. My heart is your heart here , be nice as possible please.

05/14/2026

Title: The Time Difference Wasn’t The Reason I Didn’t Answer
Artist: Cortdogg aka Cortland

I broke my finger picking flowers for your funeral
You spent all of your savings on my headstone
But I’m buying all your drinks from across the bar
You’re soaking up all of my notions like you’re the one with arrows hanging out of your heart
Using shell casings as book markers for your diary
Stop winking at me
Stop throwing your underwear in my backseat
For god’s sake please don’t tell me any of your truths
The dirt around your ass cheeks is glowing while you sit in front of my truck
It’s making me anxious
Let’s sing ourselves to sleep as we become nauseous
Too many margaritas and guitar chords to be normal
Way too many bad habits and tattoos
Black eye squinty drama
Pavement in our kneecaps
Melted slushies
Driving under some influence
Getting away with trash removal
On fire underwater
I hate loving you as often as I live in the ICU
And I love hating you as often as it rains on the sun

05/14/2026

Title: This Diesel Fuel Smells Like Your Name
Artist/Writer: Cortland that gangster cowboy

Writing in the dark feels like sucking on sugar and soap
I can see the ink as clearly as the look of love bleeding from your closed eyes
All down the front of the shirt I gave you
It’ll be mixed with my laundry later
I’m typewriting and the room is pitch black
You’re the one who cut the power off
I’m stumbling over your bu****it with a can of diesel fuel in my hand
Trying to refuel my generator
Because I need light
I need love
I need your mess to go away
I need this ink to run out
Cover my eyes and scream at me
Because all of this fuel has me believing that I can see in the dark
And my typewriter jammed
And my words are camouflaged
And I’m finally choking my pen to death
Kind of like what you did to my heart

05/13/26

05/14/2026

Title: Short People Lose, Tall People Die
Artist or Writer: Probably me Cortland

You left sand on your toes
You left that sand in my shower
I got it in the cut in my foot and it hurts
And my dog ran away
You hate the sunny days
You rain on my peace
With your sticky ass sweat
Stop going to the beach
That’s where I want to be
Instead of cleaning beach out of my shower drain
Bring my dog back
Clean your car because it smells like blunt wraps and regret
It’s making me sick
I’m going to that bar whether it’s your birthday or not
So if you’re flexible enough
Go put your dirty feet in your mouth
And you can lie to yourself in your own silence and leave that s**t away from my sanctuary
You weren’t ever the best singer anyway

05/13/26

04/18/2026

Title: My Mental Serenity Using Too Many Needles To Sew Its Lips Shut
Artist/Writer/Your local mechanic: Cortland Fkn Schroth

I have a few questions just for you
If you give me good answers I'll give you cool trophies
And a lot of them
So many that you'll have to store them somewhere under your bed
So many trophies for just one good answer per question
Until you sleep on this pile of cool s**t I rewarded you and you choose to be silent
What am I supposed to do with all this dry tinder
All soaked in fuel lying next to all this molten metal
What am I supposed to speak to all of these people that only want me to sing for them
What am I supposed to make with all this piano string, rubber cement, and glass shards
Catching everyone's bullets in a baseball glove
When can I politely ask them to hold their fire
What if I can't drain the water from the tank I'm stuck inside of fast enough to keep me from drowning
Would you be mad at me
Would you be disappointed
Can I live
Here's your first heap of trophies
I hope your bed doesn't get too close to the ceiling

04/18/2026

Title: I'm A Little Fugging Sick
Artist/Writer/Simp/Bigdogg: Cortland, El Bambi

This is so colorfully bleak
It smells like a mail room and a gas station fell in love
This humid and sticky dust all over my boots
Sparkling with cheap glitter shipped all the way from California
Broken down tattoos stranded on the side of my spinal cord
My liver is getting fat and you're running out of time
To lay around wasting time
Stomping your crinkled toes around every morning you wake up
Feeling alone or annoyed by the filth you decided to sleep with
It's so wretchedly sublime
It feels like choking on lithium
I'd break my guitar strings with my fingertips
Scream singing until my voice became permanently deep
To kiss your sweaty head and pretend
I didn't feel stupid
That the monochromatic landscape in front of me was colored purple
And that you weren't drowning too
Hey now, they have things we can buy to fix everything
For a few hours
You could have at least answered the phone here and there
Both out of money, paint, and heartbeats
Awestruck by melancholy I feel a little ill again

04/18/2026

Title: This Isn't A Poem
Artist: F All, Cortland

Last night rained heavily
Not outside or from the sky
It rained between my left eyeball and right fist
It flooded
It soaked the cardboard roof over my desire to laugh
And the laughter drowned like a dog choking on a wet towel
The lightning cried for someone to come help with its crackling voice of thunder
You sat back and torched the end of a saturated Newport cigarette
Underneath your feeble umbrella
Occasionally peering up at me
Just to check which direction to flick the butt when you were done
Making sure I wasn't showing my teeth
Texting me about how bad you feel
Waiting until the lightning stopped
And I closed that left eye
You pulled a pistol from the front of your thong
Put it in my right hand
Told me to laugh because I had to
Told me to smell the barrel and pull the trigger
But it was raining everywhere
Not outside
Raining all over your weapon
Raining through my roof and soaking all the black denim
Drenching our ambitions
The gun never fired and all you did was tease me

04/18/2026

Title: With Grace I Demonstrate Self Ignition
Artist or actually Writer: The Best Writer Ever, Cortland

I can smell the dreams that make you cry in your sleep from over here
Like an unforecastable heavy fog reaching its wretched claws across the country sky and scratching my head
Putting spiders inside my cowboy boots while I take a shower
There's a stench coming from the regrets you quietly weep over
And those regrets grew their own hands and are now texting me that they miss me
They carefully opened my screen door and snuck into my apartment
For the purpose of topping off my half empty bottles of expensive whiskey with water from my bathroom sink
And you wouldn't read my writing if it was published on the inside of your sunglasses
You'd abandon listening to music if I wrote a song about you
And I'm addicted to loving things that won't look back at me
I can't keep your matches and lighters away from my gun powder
It's making me cantankerous
It's like trying to tie double knots in jello shoelaces while a gym teacher holds a revolver to my head
Telling me to hurry up and be physical
And here I sit inside of a tragedy disguised as a peaceful Monday night
Preparing for tomorrows exhaustion and hoping for less apathy
Or maybe just a response
Or a nailgun to my kneecap
By your hands with your tools would at least show evidence
That I exist in your existence
What a rough way to fall asleep

03/28/2026

Title: Selling Cheap Alibies, Spelling Poorly
Artist: That Handsome Cortland Schroth

I specifically neglect your addiction to attention
I tend to seek shelter when you hunt
With your pointed nails and tattooed fingers covered in contaminated drool
Residue from the rabid foam spilling out of the sides of your lips
The ones I wanted so badly
The lips I needed on my neck
Like I needed a daily mouthful of lead fishing weights
Like I needed the oak tree outside to shed its thickest branch from its healthy body
Straight through the windshield of my truck
Like an airbag needs to be filled with sharp pieces of copper
You're an incredibly sick disaster
I need you to be better at fooling me
You accidentally gave me too much truth
You fed my inner leech all that diamond blood
Sold me scented sulfur at a high price
Walking away when I'm not looking
Making sure those fish hooks are covered in my favorite vodka before you push them down my throat
I'm not violent
You're not ugly
You just murder benevolence with sadistic ignorance and it's a bit unattractive

03/28/2026

Title: One More For The Sake Of My Hand Muscles
Artist: Cortland, who tf else writes this silly s**t

Stained sweater sleeves look exceptionally crusty on you today
And I've never heard you sing like this
Over poorly tuned guitar chords
Did you always have that piercing like that
Looks kind of hard to breathe without whistling from your nose holes
I never realized how thick the lip prints you left on my whiskey glasses were
I only noticed because of how many you left abandoned at a quarter full level
Mostly near my bathroom sink and on the floor by my shower
Measurable amounts of lip fabric all over the rims
I never ran my finger underneath the skin of my chest to feel the scar you left there until recently
It's impressive and surreal
I fantasize about how excellent it would have been to lose my hands before I went to check on that
You got me good
Crusty sleeves
Wrinkled lip prints
Tattooed sexy thighs
Nasty whiskey glasses
And there's a piece of your fingernail stuck behind my ear
And you're somewhere vampire feasting on someone else
Seductively witch like
Riding on your fraudulent declaration of rebellion
Screaming for freedom inside a velvet gas chamber
Your bloodshot eyes used to be a little attractive in their own unique way
But I think you're ugly when you hurt me and you need to buy a new hoodie

03/28/2026

Title: Snow Busted Palm Trees
Artist: Some guy, Cortland

Don't come over here tossing ropes
There aren't animals to lasso in New Jersey
Unless you can tie a rope around a pothole
Throwing ropes you'll probably catch yourself an out of shape car salesman here
Or a cup of s**tty Wawa coffee
Don't look up or sideways
You'll offend a high price rental landlord
And there aren't any cowboys here to save you from their entitled retribution
Asinine wrath
Don't come over here tossing around invitations
There aren't parties to host in these parts anymore
The bonfire logs are covered in mud and the ember black smoke is soaking wet
The rest of the community bought up all of the drugs and live music chokes alone in the corner trying to avoid imprisonment
If you'd be so kind as to pull a bit tighter on that zip tie around your ankles
They need to collect the taxes on the blood saturating your socks
Don't come over here with starry eyes hoping to find love
Love died in the over priced uber ride that crashed down the street from the new micro brewery
And it crashed because the this recent winter weather placed an empty swimming pool where the left turn only arrow used to be
You should head towards California
You can trade out the endless death of your spirit here for a copious amount of free heartbreaks
Where the blizzards don't kill all of the palm trees

Address

Schroth Mountain
El Cajon, CA
07834

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