christopher-noerr - Hello Poetry

We are like two oreos from the same package So why do I sometimes feel we go together like orange juice and tooth paste? You are ALL of the things that I've ever wanted in a girl ...Except for a lot of things. Am I selfish? Is it you or is it me? It's sort of like that Clash song. Should I stay? Should I go? The trouble is guaranteed. Are you worth the trouble? I want you to be worth the trouble. I love you. Whether you want to hear that or not. I must be selfish. I'm thinking too much I ALWAYS. think. too. much. I know I love you. Even though I think too much. No thought required.

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Sep 8, 2010

Sep 8, 2010 at 1:22 AM UTC

christopher-noerr

Who Doesn't Like Touching?

We are like two oreos from the same package So why do I sometimes feel we go together like orange juice and tooth paste? You are ALL of the things that I've ever wanted in a girl ...Except for a lot of things. Am I selfish? Is it you or is it me? It's sort of like that Clash song. Should I stay? Should I go? The trouble is guaranteed. Are you worth the trouble? I want you to be worth the trouble. I love you. Whether you want to hear that or not. I must be selfish. I'm thinking too much I ALWAYS. think. too. much. I know I love you. Even though I think too much. No thought required.

19

Do you wonder why it rains? It's raining now. Do you know why? You don't care WHY it rains. It's not a part of you so you don't give a **** It rains because of me. I control the weather. I struck an old woman with lightning. I didn't care. Everything dies. It was probably the most fun she's had in a while. I saw you with some other guy. It rained for a week. Do you remember? You probably played in it. Had fun in my rain. Honey, you hurt me But you're just causing rainstorms. You'll never be a hurricane.

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Sep 8, 2010

Sep 8, 2010 at 1:15 AM UTC

christopher-noerr

Why It Rains.

Do you wonder why it rains? It's raining now. Do you know why? You don't care WHY it rains. It's not a part of you so you don't give a **** It rains because of me. I control the weather. I struck an old woman with lightning. I didn't care. Everything dies. It was probably the most fun she's had in a while. I saw you with some other guy. It rained for a week. Do you remember? You probably played in it. Had fun in my rain. Honey, you hurt me But you're just causing rainstorms. You'll never be a hurricane.

19

It's 4:10 in the AM and I need to write My second *** and diet coke is taking affect Partly because I'm running out of diet coke and partly because I want so desperately to be in this state of mind I need creative release. (This is ironic because I'm an artist.) At least, when people ask me what I do... I say I'm an artist But lately I can't Just. Can't. I've run up against some demon Who chants "thou shall not pass, thou shalt NOT" He is likely a remnant of my last relationship. I see her everywhere. I think she drives a silver sedan now So whenever I see one driving past, I shiver. There are a million in my small city. I see ALL of them. I smile when they pass So on the off chance she is occupying the driver's seat, She will know that I overcame her bitterness I am hypocrisy through and through. The tobacco on my shirt stinks of all the false promises I've never kept. It is a vile reminder that I am a cliché wrapped in a gas station burrito I am naked here. I am exposing all of the parts that I've vowed to keep inside. Inside where the A/C can keep the sweat from revealing itself. My creativity is a joke. (I don't understand the punch line but I continue to laugh.) She must have gobbled up the right hemisphere of my brain. Maybe not her, but the ever-present ghost of what I agreed to allow into my soul Her white-hot beautiful and angry ghost Why can't I remove her violent spirit from my bedroom. Jesus Christ hear me as I cry your name. Exercise the ghosts of my last three years. I sweat realism. You would disagree if you saw my paintings. Playful. Happy. Primary triad displayed proudly. It's that part of me that says that this very poem needs editing. It needs to be set right. It needs. THIS POEM IS SELF AWARE.

0

Sep 2, 2010

Sep 2, 2010 at 1:19 AM UTC

christopher-noerr

four ten

It's 4:10 in the AM and I need to write My second *** and diet coke is taking affect Partly because I'm running out of diet coke and partly because I want so desperately to be in this state of mind I need creative release. (This is ironic because I'm an artist.) At least, when people ask me what I do... I say I'm an artist But lately I can't Just. Can't. I've run up against some demon Who chants "thou shall not pass, thou shalt NOT" He is likely a remnant of my last relationship. I see her everywhere. I think she drives a silver sedan now So whenever I see one driving past, I shiver. There are a million in my small city. I see ALL of them. I smile when they pass So on the off chance she is occupying the driver's seat, She will know that I overcame her bitterness I am hypocrisy through and through. The tobacco on my shirt stinks of all the false promises I've never kept. It is a vile reminder that I am a cliché wrapped in a gas station burrito I am naked here. I am exposing all of the parts that I've vowed to keep inside. Inside where the A/C can keep the sweat from revealing itself. My creativity is a joke. (I don't understand the punch line but I continue to laugh.) She must have gobbled up the right hemisphere of my brain. Maybe not her, but the ever-present ghost of what I agreed to allow into my soul Her white-hot beautiful and angry ghost Why can't I remove her violent spirit from my bedroom. Jesus Christ hear me as I cry your name. Exercise the ghosts of my last three years. I sweat realism. You would disagree if you saw my paintings. Playful. Happy. Primary triad displayed proudly. It's that part of me that says that this very poem needs editing. It needs to be set right. It needs. THIS POEM IS SELF AWARE.

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