My biggest fear has nothing to do
     with monsters, the dark, death,
     or any of those usual frights.
No, my most intense scare comes
     from the anticipation that one day
     you may see me the same way
     I see myself.
For you see I'm not the girl that guys
     conjure up in their daydreams.
I could never hope to pass as one
     of those flitty girly-girls who know
     of quizzical things such as
               make-up
               cute hairstyles
               or fashion.
My blemishes show, and honestly
     I haven't a clue how to hide them
     anyway.
I look at braided hair, beachy waves,
     and effortless updos with envy
     My hair has two styles: up or down.
I've never in my life looked casually cute,
     and am obviously uncomfortable
     in a dress.  Please just pass me
     my jeans and t-shirt back,
     I'm much more myself in them.
     How does one even walk in heels?
I'd like to think I'm one of those
     "cool" girls that guys claim
     they love, the low-maintenance
     type chick, but I don't think
     I'm "cool" at all, really.
When guys describe those chicks,
     they do things like
               play video games
               quote Star Wars
               read comic books
     like some ideal gorgeous geek.
Well that's **** sure not me either.
     I **** at video games,
     love Star Wars, but
     I'm terrible with movie references,
     and have never read comics.
     Does manga count?
     I'm kind of starting to get into that...
I'm not the nerd's epitome of perfection
     either, the everyman's ideal.
So what am I? I'm just boring,
     little ole me.
I love to read, and would rather
     spend the night reading
     or watching something than go out.
I'm shy and self-conscious to a fault,
     so don't try bringing me around
     friends, I'll just bring you down.
Honestly, I'm basically a child. I love
               Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
               Gargoyles
               Tom & Jerry
               Animaniacs
     and cartoons in general.
I'm quiet and contemplative, often caught
     writing in my notebook,
     detailing my observations
     about the world around me.
I have a ***** mind and a messed-up
     sense of humor, giggling
     of the worst times occasionally.
But all in all, I think of myself
     as pretty boring.  Laidback,
     but with the most capricious of moods.
     I'm both low and high maintenance.
I don't know why you think positively
     of me, but I anticipate the day
     you realize I'm really nothing
     special at all.
The day you discover the truth
     I already know all too well.

I love her
I lust for **him

I often wonder how people write decent love poems
For my attempts I’d classify as
mediocre.
How do write about your eyes?
The way they avert my face
And sparkle in another’s direction
That particular pain is hard to express
But for somebody as rejected as I am,
It should be simple
To moan about hands I will never hold
And if I manage
To ***** those lines out in ink
There will always be someone
To reassure me that love is out there
But how can I believe that
When I have taken myself apart
Brick by boring brick
Just to recreate myself as somebody even worse?
Now tell me,
How does one write about that?

Wake up
Wash up
Cook
Clean up

Attend class
Scribble notes
Speak up
And eat up

Organize
Sweep
And mop
Repeat as needed

Oh, monotony
You have found me
With your best friend,
Exhaustion

You killed my will to live
Imagination, all gone
Muscle memory keeps me going
Oxygen gives my heart a beat

I may as well be dead
My mind shuts off
The noises all gone
And good ol' monotony comes up to play.

Another morning full of clouds
Another car just passing by
Another hour wasted, missed.
Customary, boring, silent, ******.

No stream of light.
No string of gold.
But there's one thing.
There is a hope.

A hope for light,
For somet long new.
For something more.
Some more from you.

Empty words fill
Empty spaces,
Wasting our time and
Using our efforts to
Impress an empty audience.
The words are normal,
Effortless,
Sleepy.
Tedious and tensionless
They sweep the imaginary landscape:
Wasteland.
They speak with easy access to
Shallow hearts.
Slight stabs hold no pain--
The blade is too dull.
This bore sickens me;
These words hold no pull.
Goalless structure has
No gold.
Wasted breath on nothing.

Now change:
We are the words that make life worth it...
                    ...Poets.