Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2014
$1.50 shirt from the thrift store, $40 Ralph Lauren shorts, back to school Vans shoes, and some confidence.
Riding my bike around blocks hoping to find some inspiration even though I've been writing more than ever, still feel empty after I'm done.
Got plenty numbers on my phone, but I only talk to one and thats through kik messenger.
Have a lot to say but no one wants to listen to someone that's delusional.
I started thinking straight though, these days make a lot more sense.
I try not writing about the world anymore, I dont have a clue about it.
I think my bike makes me feel a lot better when I feel sad, I feel like with every peddle I take it erases little pieces of big worries or bad memories.
I try to peddle as much as I can.
I miss a lot of things.
I always wonder what would happen if a car ran me over when I'm riding my bike.
I always ride on the big streets even though my mom tells me not to, I dont like listening.
I always do the opposite of what anyone doesn't want me to do.
"Dont do drugs", you'll see me buying.
"Dont love me", you'll see me post links on Twitter to poetry about that person.
I started reading about useless subjects, none of that really matters.
Ian G. Barbour is a loser.
Just love, and believe in what you want to believe in.
I want to sign my name on books I wrote while I was depressed, but I don't see that happening anymore.
I'm outside listening to crickets, is this how it sounds when I make a joke?
I don't see any stars, I'm kind of relieved when I dont see any.
I used to think stars were just reflections of sad people on earth, I thought that 4 months ago.
My therapist thought I was delusional, I could see it in her eyes and in how she talked to me.
These mosquitoes are getting annoying so I'm going end this.
Remember, "a strange grey distance separates our pale mind still from the pulsing continent of the heart of man".
David Bojay
Written by
David Bojay  Dallas
(Dallas)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems