~

Oh, how I miss you so.

I wanted to be a poet at nine
I remember writing then
Words about love
A forgein thing
I yearned to know
And I've discovered it now
Years later
But these words
They no longer seem right
Because my poetry
Is meh
I've seen myself grow into this person
One I've gotten at least a little comfortable
I just feel talentless
Like no matter what I say
Or what I do
Its not good enough for society
I'm sixteen
And the world has tossed me around
And I know liars who are better at life
And I know fakes that always get their way
But I work for it
And I know life's not fair
But I tried
And I dreamed
But I guess not all dreams come true
And no matter how long you never give up
The world never gives in
The world never gives chances
But I'm still trying to make them for myself.

It's like this:
You sit in your bedroom and the fan is on, the window is open, yet it is still hot.
You have your laptop open and music is playing.
On your walls there are numerous posters, a world map, and a dartboard.
On your nightstand there are letters from last year's World History teacher, empty bottles, a switchblade and an ashtray.
There are books on your shelf written by many great authors, poets, playwrights, and philosophers.
In your hand there is a cigarette, and in the other there is The Stranger by Albert Camus.
You sit alone, smoking and reading and drinking and suddenly you stop doing all of these things because inspiration has struck.
Although you prefer a pen and paper, you begin typing on your laptop.
The words come out and form sentences.
The sentences form stanzas
and eventually the stanzas form a finish a finish product.
That is what it's like to be anything at all.

My day off feeling goid relaxing listening to music
Doing what feels right and what makes me happy
Work always frustrates me trying to make money
Do my time hoping to move up instead staying stuck
Over feeling used and taken for granted
I say the cream rises to the top
I've always been honest and *** heat for it
I spoke the truth and got excluded forgotten
Its hard to forget now I'm on the level
Its not where I want to be
on a level of my own feels right
Where I belong it feels right
I don't care who you know
Or what your last name is
I told my coworker id be associate of the month
I see that for myself others bs and should take pride in themself

The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout

Soaring high.
The reds,
the blues,
nothing could ever be more different than those two colors right now.
It's beautiful and so are you,
my lovely friend.

Down came the rain and washed the spider out

Feeling low.
The headaches,
and the sleepless nights,
nothing can ever bring me back to where I was before.
My horse has a name and he is loyal,
he is my friend.

Out came the sun and dried up all the rain

Thirsty.
The sun,
combined with the noise burns me,
how long was I asleep for?
My enemy will put up a fierce fight,
but not for long.
I can fight this.

The itsy bitsy spider climber up the spout again*

The chain is addiction
and the links are euphoria.
One end is a bent steel pole.
Me.
On the other is a needle.
My lovely horse.

~

Don't you ever stop. Continue eternally.

i extract poetry from your facebook chats
and tenderness from your skype calls
this: the compromise of a romantic heart
in the face of modern ephemera
since i cannot scale your balcony
like i memorize your wall
(o sweet o lovely wall
thanks courteous wall)
nor can i woo you or ****** you
without google as my cyrano
i worry for the endurance
of a love without tree-carved initials
and sigh over perceived corruption
caused by emoticons over emotion
though i’m sure if mr wilde could text
or byron could bbm
they’d not forego their lovers’ notice
for the sake of pure romance
they’d embrace any fleeting mention
with disregard for rose colored glasses
not moon over the glare of history’s glance
they’d kiss them with x’s
and serenade them with youtube
and covet any moment not spent
with them on their mind
so my conflict is resolved
and my star-crossed thoughts soothed
when they caution most ominously
that anything on the internet
can never truly disappear.