Almost two years ago I wrote about how he told me
that we always had to question ourselves,
Almost two years later I read about the works of
Descartes, Aristotle, and other influential philosophers,
I begin to question all I know,
from whether the finger I write with writes what I or what it wants,
I’m skeptical of whether I am;
If I am, why? Why me?
I also realise how irrelevant it is
for me to worry about feelings and love and pain,
Almost two years ago I wrote daily
about myself as an object with experience
Now I write with skepticism
What’s the point anyways?
I’m ready for the sun
Though I love the snow
The cold lit the fire beside us
The warmth melted it long ago
Bad mistakes I’ve made make that kind of sense
If you are open to something different
You will ignore everything I’ve said
Can you believe like I do in you
I am not in love anymore
I just don’t have anything else to talk about
The first word you speak will erase the past
I’m tired of pretending
What is there to admire
They don’t think about mending
Instead it’s how they aspire
I hope my next mistake is not about ten more cents
There’s not enough time to talk
Sleep and work take turns living your life
But I’ve learned once again what I’m about
And it’s not to tell you someone to work harder
I hope you can be all that you dream
While I remind myself a sail is always tied to a mast
I'm writing a poem now,
a poem I have yet to decide the meaning of,
I just wanted to write,
so I'm writing.
Does it always have to make sense?
Do I have to have something to say,
or can I just say nothing while I say something?
Life is filled with meaninglessness,
so if I write something with no meaning,
I'm just contributing to an existing factor,
that nothing really makes sense,
my poem doesn't,
See what I did there?
I actually gave my poem a meaning,
by saying that nothing means anything,
so I also gave it a depressing meaning,
which is sad,
but life is sad sometimes,
actually all the time,
it's always sad for someone,
even when it's not sad for you.
I'm just rambling,
because I love to ramble,
I love to write,
and love writing nonsense.
Writing nonsense is better
than not writing at all, my friend.
But you ain't really my friend,
I don't even know you
and I don't know if I want to,
I don't know who you are or what you stand for,
I just know you're reading my poem.
Even if it intended to have no meaning at all, I hope it gave you meaning after all.
Bloomed like a rose
that died to soon.
Ran like the blood
pouring from my wound.
Stone cold eyes, still stuck
A disbelief coming undone.
Lies so white, grow tall in time
blinding eyes sore from there sight.
I look into you
reaching out of me
for a clearer view
but still I can't see it.
What I am wanting,
I know there's something
something that I dream
what my life means.
What I am searching for
What am I searching for?
I'm sitting with a band.
A semi innocent dream,
simply I'm sitting with a band,
I'm listening to them chat and talk about their music,
I'm sitting with a band,
in a large Hall listening to guitar riffs and singing on the stage,
I'm sitting with a band of disappointments,
I'm sitting with a band of liars and cheaters,
I'm sitting with a band of me.
I'm sitting with a brand on my shoulder,
claiming me to a life I do not want, I'm sitting with a band around my chest,
making it hard for me to breathe,
but at least,
I'm sitting by a band that follows me,
Invisibly. talking music and poetry in a waiting room. while someone blares,
their shitty rap music.
Everything I do just seems so wrong
Out of place, and I can't face, that I don't belong
I know we're all different, but I am different still
Every battle I've ever fought, I always fought uphill...
Another nobody in training to belong, to become
And maybe someday, I'll mean something to someone
Recognition for the things that I wish I hadn't done
And I'm done....
Nothing was ever perfect, and so nothing I've become
Nothing was ever perfect, and now I am No-One
Is warmly lit bedrooms,
Is the early 2000's
Is summers on bikes,
With bare feet,
Is my road,
In the early morning,
Feels like my first love,
Hurts so good,
And makes me wanna cry,
In the best way.
This song is we live,
This song is car rides,
This song is night,
This song is my childhood,
Played for so many,
Parts of my life,
Mostly the divorce,
Mostly the pain,
Brings me back,
This song is old friendship,
And old people,
Is pumped up kicks.