i-dont-care
American
This is my second account. I went through a series of situations that kind of lead to the creation of another account, but I'm here and I guess I'm back... I often get stuck and take long breaks from poetry, so please bear with me for the lack of consistency. Enjoy :)
I've found it,
My fatal flaw:
I'm a poet.
I romanticize and attempt to find beauty in the most hideous of situations,
Even when the beauty ceases to exist.
I fall in love with my own ideas and expectations,
To try to block out the reality.
So there it is,
My fatal flaw:
Poetry
I love it,
but it kills me
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 10:59 PM UTC
I want to believe that you went home,
And thought about me.
And us,
And all of the places we go could,
Songs we could listen to,
And long late night drives that wouldn't be so lonely.
But realistically,
You probably banged some other girl on your couch,
Not even remembering my name,
While I dreamt beautiful things about you.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 11:28 PM UTC
I fell for your smile,
Laugh,
and your eyes.
As I attempt to avoid romanticizing your image,
I will try to see you for what you did,
Not who I imagine you'd be.
I fell in love with the thought of you,
The thought of us.
But I cannot afford to get hurt,
Due to mere fact I fell in love with an idea,
Not a person.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 11:18 PM UTC
While all of my friends will tell me no,
I say yes because I can't watch you go.
While all of my friends won't like you at all,
You're quite the catch, and it's worth the fall.
And though I've just met you, I can't help it, you see,
I'm thinking about you, hoping you're thinking about me.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 3:59 AM UTC
And I'm constantly reminded of what I had,
Constant torture of what I lost.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 11:21 PM UTC
So many opportunities,
Yet I've never felt so stuck.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 11:16 PM UTC
We'll travel down the old stone path,
Wondering why these things started to change.
We'll walk along the old train tracks,
Thinking of all the words that we once sang.
And it's so hard to stay so young forever,
School and work and life get in the way.
You're just like the last day of summer,
Days feel like weeks, weeks feel like a day.
We'll run amongst the old beech trees,
And count our blessings, dreading August's end.
We'll sing about another time,
When we can be together once again.
And it's so hard to stay so young forever,
School and work and life get in the way.
You're just like the last day of summer,
Days feel like weeks, weeks feel like a day.
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 11:57 AM UTC
I'm not depressed,
I'm just misplaced.
It's not disaster,
Just disgrace.
So get me out,
Before I break.
I'm not depressed,
I'm just misplaced.
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 1:27 AM UTC
Isn't it weird
To think
That behind a pale a white shell,
Is a life?
Occasionally,
A cake,
Or an omlet,
Or thousands of other foods,
That I will spare your time and not list.
But isn't it weird to think,
Of the possibilities behind an egg?
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 12:48 AM UTC
You're like an old sweater.
I only see you when it's cold.
Each stitch, braid, and knit,
Delicately weave our memories,
Into a string of warmth and comfort.
But it's an old sweater.
Meaning that there are holes,
And places where the stitches become undone,
Like the relationship that we once shared.
So yes,
You're an old sweater.
Maybe one that I bought at a thrift shop,
Because even though I wore you,
You were never really mine.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC