Sometimes I have ideas for poems
And then I lose them
Somewhere between the generating of the idea
And writing it down.
Sometimes I start a poem whose ending I know,
But somewhere in between
Something happens
And I lose my trail of thought
I forget the ending
And then discard the whole thing
In fury
or confusion
Or a fusion of those two.

Is that what happened with you?
Was I your brand new idea?
Did you forget what we had?
Did you forget to write me
On every single notepad you have?
Did you forget our ending?
Did you get lost
And forgot me,
Somewhere in between finding me
And writing me down?
Did you discard me in fury or confusion?

Did you forget what we had?

I've always wanted to stand OUT you know-
be d i f f e r e n t.
Be that pencil in a box of crayons,
Or that one fish out of the water,
Who swears that he can survive on land.

I've always wanted to be like you.
Walking with your own feet,
Dancing to your own beat.

I try to be free but,
I'm caged in this frame:
This skin, these bones,
I'm caged in this cage.

Physically freed,
But still mentally slaved
Thinking
Different is rebellious
Thinking d i f f e r e n t is insane.
Not knowing even though "different",
You're still the same.

I admire you
Because you're the person I often try to be,
The person I want to be
My inspiration
You're novelty
You're a queen.

h.s

I could say I am a ball of contradictions,
confusions and delusions
But I'm no ball,
I'm no perfect shape.

Rather,
I'm just pieces of different debris
And forsaken things,
Like the broken arm off a kid's doll
Thrown together,
In attempts to make something.

And in attempts to make something of myself,
I lost you and
I came up with nothing.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror
But all I see is an empty, yet full frame.

I feel so empty,
I've left you in people and things
I've worn myself out trying to find you
and I'm tired.

I'm empty, yet full.
Full of things that aren't me
Full of little pieces I've kept from many old you's
Hoping to one day find the real you.

I'm tired, tired of roaming in different directions,
Spinning in different circles
And scaling hills and valleys,
To find you

I'm tired of looking in empty trashcans,
And through the cracks in sidewalks,
And in people,
To find you.

I'm tired of seeking and not finding.
Dear old self, can you stop hiding?
This game of hide and seek is getting pretty tiring.

h.s

If there were words for this
Perfect words for this feeling
Then maybe there'd only be one
Poem, song, book, film
But there are no words
To describe this burning absence.
So I'll write another poem
About you.