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CaseyHaywardPoems
I’m not a writer, so I’ll give it to you straight— without fancy words or the metaphors I hate. I’m a nobody that’s never been a somebody, that will never amount to anything— and I’m just like you. Admit it, it stings. It’s not Go-thee, it’s Goethe, I swear— I’ve read every page, just never learned where the right sounds live in a mouth like mine. But make no mistake I’m not far behind. And it might make you sad, but it’s the sad truth. When will you see I didn’t waste my mind or my youth? Time is a tightly closing fist that has us all by the throats, and we won’t escape the clock— so hold me close. I think and I dream, and then I plant those thoughts like deep-rooted flowers in hand-painted pots. I’ll never win a Pulitzer or get an honorable mention, but that doesn’t mean I don’t live my life with intention. And it might make you sad, but it’s the sad truth. When will you see I didn’t waste my mind or my youth? Time is a tightly closing fist that has us all by the throats, and we won’t escape the clock— so hold me close.
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Apr 11, 2025
Apr 11, 2025 at 4:05 PM UTC
It’s not Goethe it’s Goethe.
I’m not a writer, so I’ll give it to you straight— without fancy words or the metaphors I hate. I’m a nobody that’s never been a somebody, that will never amount to anything— and I’m just like you. Admit it, it stings. It’s not Go-thee, it’s Goethe, I swear— I’ve read every page, just never learned where the right sounds live in a mouth like mine. But make no mistake I’m not far behind. And it might make you sad, but it’s the sad truth. When will you see I didn’t waste my mind or my youth? Time is a tightly closing fist that has us all by the throats, and we won’t escape the clock— so hold me close. I think and I dream, and then I plant those thoughts like deep-rooted flowers in hand-painted pots. I’ll never win a Pulitzer or get an honorable mention, but that doesn’t mean I don’t live my life with intention. And it might make you sad, but it’s the sad truth. When will you see I didn’t waste my mind or my youth? Time is a tightly closing fist that has us all by the throats, and we won’t escape the clock— so hold me close.
#2021
Written by
CaseyHayward
36/United States
Apr 11, 2025
Apr 11, 2025 at 4:05 PM UTC
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