I want to be a poem
Drawn out using long words and comas
Penciled before penned in case you write me wrong
Find a spark in me and write about it
Write down all the words and phrases that come to your mind when I cross it
Think about what you want to achieve
Will I be one for the books or just another in your leather notebook filled with other girls names
Let the creativity flow like a river after it has been drowned in the rain, pushing the excess water it can no longer hold
Use concrete imagery and vivid descriptions
Paint all of the abstract concepts like you are painting your favorite piece of artwork in black and white
Use poetic devises to enhance the beauty in meaning
Add a sharp turn at the end
Leave the reader hanging
Read over me, memorize every punctuation
Bring me to life and read me out loud
Bring rhythm to my every syllable and make me a song
Edit my body if it does not suit you
Make any changes that you see fit
If I do not rhyme, do not fret
Even blank verse poetry can be beautiful
I believe all poetry is a work of art
I want you to see me in a frame
Why else did you think I asked you to write me down?

I failed to save another soul today.
On my high patrol, I heard their last gasps leave their lips,
and I let their salvation get away
slipping through my super-powered fingertips.

If I can write assurance to a thousand souls lost, humorous and witty
"If I muster all the words that I know," I thought, "Surely I can save this city."
But life can't be measured by honeyed words, and it's agony to see
the souls' salvations that I'm missing beneath my red-caped nobility.

Even if I flew higher still, with my cape waving proud and free,
no great power I could bring to bear could match my responsibility.
For every orphan girl I save, there's another not too far afield.
For every chain broken, for every freed slave, there are chains that will not yield.

I'd fly around the world and turn back time, but I know t'would be in vain.
What's a single Superman to do, when the whole world cries to be saved?

Time has come and the time has gone,
Another sun will rise with another dawn,
All I have now are the traces of the missing star,
An unknowingly discontented heart or an unacknowledged scar,
Oh! If I could just know the reason why or just the meaning of I,
As if listening, “Why bother?” whispers the lovely orange sky.

So, maybe I am laughing I cannot really see,
Or maybe it’s alright, I cannot really feel,
Anyhow I look forward to another misplaced sun,
Another beautiful day and another misleading run,
Maybe the night shall make me tough, and hope will keep me high,
And then, as if listening, “Why bother?” whispers the lovely orange sky.

So now I finally listen, I melt into the beautiful hues,
Lost or Found? I don’t really have many clues,
Few tears escape my eyes as if they have committed treason,
Is it the dying day or the dream? I don’t really know the reason.
Few more fall as the colors fade and as the last traces of light die,
And then, as if listening, "Why bother?” whispers the lovely orange sky.

when you feel as
useless
as a white crayon

all you have
to do
is to find
that someone

who prefers
black paper