'It’s the shoes I noticed first', you tell me
fabric and rubber worn-down by too much love
remnants of favorite memories stained into the sides
‘It’s how they changed’, you explain
One day to the next
Flat and easy to Amazonian heights and ankle breakers
‘They are full of surprises’, you say
Just like you
My cheeks flush pink
‘I like that’, you tell me
I wonder, what kind of guy notices a girl’s shoes?
You wait for me to accept the compliment
Instead I roll my eyes
And you see in me a common ally
Have you seen the troubled youth these days?
They're not very troubled at all.
They create their own illness then spread it amongst the masses of degenerates.
The symptoms consist of debauchery and disrespect.
They yell to the crowd, "Look at me for I am broken."
No. You are fixed...fixed onto the idea that one must be troubled to be different.
Oh, have you seen the troubled youth of today?
They're not so troubled after all.
Choosing a series a words for a ditty,
Those we first pluck a few at a time.
For readers it will, at first, seem so pretty
When they detect that rhythm and rhyme.
But soon, I suggest, it becomes such a chore,
When words strung together do pose
An oft-trodden pattern or insipid score
That bounces and sings as it goes.
The message conveyed in this rigid frame,
Is lesser I fear than than when we escape
From words chosen for just ending the same
Or some fortuitous fit to that shape.
So I tend to lean towards using blank form,
For verses I build by the letter,
And chose the words that I feel will conform
To that which my heart says are better.
(Young man in dressing gown enters room, sees a man also in dressing gown in front of laptop, glasses on.)
Erm... give us a clue?
I can't, you'll get it straight away.
OK, is it to do with the football?
The weather, it's raining aga-
Umm... I guess her?
There's something online?
Well, yes, keep going.
I presume the usual.
You know, Saturday nights and she...
Yep, you are thinking what I'm thinking.
Oh, that is a surprise!
I know, I did say at the start...
(Man in front of laptop checks to make sure if it is true or not. Indeed it is. Groans and looks up to see there is no one else in the room with him.)
Explanation: To be honest, not sure if this even is a poem. Written in my own time.
Tell yourself the bathroom can wait no longer.
Forget to go
5 more minutes
30 more minutes
Grab mismatched shoes
Almost miss the mandated public transportation to hell
Walk to a door I know will be locked
Pull on the door trying to see if my arms get stronger since
The day before
Pretend to listen
Have nothing important to say back
“What the HELL you do that for?”
Ride back from hell in a smelly monster
Remember to go to the bathroom
Climb a tree
“Where’s my phone?”
Lose it again
Then do it all
You think that smile will make it all right,
Do you realise you’re enraging my mind?
Think it’s okay because you believe your better, why?
Like that grin makes it okay to stay blind.
Because I’m young you think I’m dumb,
You count your manners on one thumb,
You speak out; you smile like I’m making fun.
I got a rage that will make you wish you were numb.
Anger, my rage erupts enough for me to lash out,
Punch the wall, should have been your face, ow.
You have directly affected my mood now
Brewing and steaming, to release I jot this down.
Now how do I get rid of this frown?
(are you here?)
(are we there?)
(should we pack?)
(should I be crying these tears?)