It has been seven months since I have posted a poem,
Seven months since I have closed a tome.
Signed and sealed, a book collecting dust,
My gilded cage open, now collecting rust.
High School heat gave way to the gentle ocean's wisdom,
My life has taken such a turn, **** no word rhymes with wisdom.
Maybe I no longer have such a need for these words,
When I look back I think maybe poems are for nerds.
Nerds and artists who take themselves too seriously,
And seriously what the **** rhymes with seriously?
But too seriously is not how I have learned to look at me,
I am slowly learning to be ok with being free.
Health and life and joy and passion,
I have opened myself up in a quite painful fashion.
And I must learn to be kind to my past distractions,
I must learn to embrace how I was divided in fractions.
Fractions that now are becoming whole,
And how beautifully the word whole rhymes with soul.
My soul which no longer desires depressions,
But a soul that is willing to ask these questions.
Love and aching still burst my chest,
The weight of my youth can drown out the rest.
But I have healed and grown in these seven months,
**** I have done it again, nothing rhymes with months.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 1:14 AM UTC
It has been seven months since I have posted a poem,
Seven months since I have closed a tome.
Signed and sealed, a book collecting dust,
My gilded cage open, now collecting rust.
High School heat gave way to the gentle ocean's wisdom,
My life has taken such a turn, **** no word rhymes with wisdom.
Maybe I no longer have such a need for these words,
When I look back I think maybe poems are for nerds.
Nerds and artists who take themselves too seriously,
And seriously what the **** rhymes with seriously?
But too seriously is not how I have learned to look at me,
I am slowly learning to be ok with being free.
Health and life and joy and passion,
I have opened myself up in a quite painful fashion.
And I must learn to be kind to my past distractions,
I must learn to embrace how I was divided in fractions.
Fractions that now are becoming whole,
And how beautifully the word whole rhymes with soul.
My soul which no longer desires depressions,
But a soul that is willing to ask these questions.
Love and aching still burst my chest,
The weight of my youth can drown out the rest.
But I have healed and grown in these seven months,
**** I have done it again, nothing rhymes with months.
Thanks to Writer Rhymes.com for helping me make this poem. All things considered I am doing alright. Also Im pretty funny.
