An eccentric free spirit A major let down, no one understands the blunt sounds A neighborhood built up by the ****** society, half ***** puffed out chests I'd rather pick my lilacs and dance to Joan Jett then deal with their meetings I will celebrate my homemade life with a button stating, "Save the wine who cares about the rest" Freedom from the voices that screech
Followers of the great Almighty Lord of Alliteration and symbolism
Their eccentric natures make them the pariahs of this world.
We cannot wrap our minds around The words they artfully speak, So we refuse to accept them
Their eyes burn like fire in their skulls As they stare you down from a podium, In their hands they hold their own hearts Which they have ripped out of their chests, Holding them out as if asking for you to accept it from them, Wanting you to understand what every beat means
Poets are misunderstood beings, Tortured creatures, But they are far stronger than any others, because they have the gall to speak their minds unforgivingly, Bare their most inner secrets and struggles To an audience of strangers
They are the quick of tongue, Speaking faster than one's ear can hear, But somehow they still manage to work themselves into your head With every word
They're parasites, Infecting your mind and soul, Tugging at you and driving themselves into your brain Until their poems are all you think of
Found myself at a dental clinic... He was the best there was. Unorthodox and eccentric, But to the specialised craft, he was boss.
Ran through the bits and bobs Like any normally would. The poking and prodding and the mandible X-rays. Everything cold and clinical, so was the mood.
Strange was what happened next... Specialist and I then stood facing each other. He leaned close and pressed his palms against my rib cage. Held them there over a few breaths before it was over.
Then a brief chat, small talk initiated by the man. Bespectacled and exceedingly chatty, small in stature. Talks of politics and odd human behaviours... What started off as friendly turned into a heated banter.
I then realised that along with his decorated credentials, Was his propensity to be condescending and arrogant. Him being the best, I thought I could let it all slide, But soon enough I opted out of being a willing participant.
Couldn't stand his abrasive cockiness! I snapped out of being cordial and passive thought. I wanted him to just stop talking! I went, "Well, are you going to fix my teeth or not?!"
He was stunned momentarily... I suppose he hadn't seen that coming. Then his features softened to a blank I could almost read the unspoken words he was conjuring.
With an exasperated sigh of resignation, He uttered his next words swollen with regret "There's no need...for you only have four years left." It dawned upon me that my timer has been set.
*And then I woke up...
Had this dream several nights ago. I believe that in a lifetime, we'd probably get at least three dreams that would be etched in our minds forever. So far I've had two... The other is in my earlier writes. See "Mysterious". http://hellopoetry.com/poem/831521/mysterious/
Gray, lifeless desk of blank vastness Reserved for papers scattered across its cool surface, Like a disarray of blankets, leaving unsuspecting feet neglected
Writing utensils yearning to engage in a race of writing, Cannot take off from a jar of confinement: mini-prison Liberated from their incarceration, I pick up a writing utensil and write Freedom, at last, to write without the worry of apoplectic judgement
Writing is conversing with yourself, No fear of judgement except from your own doing Lingering for hours like a tree that's trying to pull itself out from the ground
Black coffee envelopes the room with a smoky touch Atrocious LED lamp light glares at me hard enough to hurt my eyes Dissonance resonates beyond my window, a border of security from letting my creative thoughts wandering too much Car music blaring with Doppler Effect (dissonance)
Frustration, more wary than my stomach growls, signals that I've been "out-of-it" for too long Thought that my work would be appreciated, Only to get blank stares as lifeless as the deceased that repose beneath me (I hope that I've made them happy)
'Tis nothing eccentric about being a poet, suppose I