My name is Holden Caulfield,
And I might just be a fool.
Picking fights and calling names,
Failing out of private school.
My house is my tombstone,
And killing time is killing me
Like the smoking cigarette
Perched between my teeth.
I'm trading my innocence
For a bottle of apathy
Because the harsh light of reality
Is beating down on me.
I'm so brain dead and bored,
I'm almost six feet in the ground.
Chasing after nothing at all,
A carousel spinning round and round.
I went on a small vacation
To avoid my fate by passing time.
Is idly watching life go by
A punishable crime?
A bunch of plans in my head,
but they're all half hearted.
I'm lacking a catalyst,
but the reaction never started.
I'm the leading actor
In my own theatrical tragedy.
Should I just burn my script,
Instead of becoming a casualty?
I just want to be a kid again,
And put my problems on pause.
I'm fighting against growing up,
A martyr for a dying cause.
I call everyone a phony,
But the truth is still the same.
I'm a smart aleck feigning stupid,
With only himself to blame.
White and gold horses.
Gracefully gallop away.
Ripe me is set free.
Down, down, I was ****** into the hungry ground
Enclosed in the darkness on the other **** side
Phony pavements descending as I strolled
Reoccurring things are ticking away
Every catch is a save
Slowing the freezing and all
Silence dominates my will to say stuff
I’m not supposed to be here, cover me away
Obliged days have sunken me solid
No one told me how to exit this game.
Run up that concrete flight. Assess the scene and know that’s it’s not alright.
And push the hair aside - like moving ivy out of the windows of those glassy eyes.
Check for that heartbeat sign. The steady rhythm that helps determine if you’ve still got time. But it’s the pulse that you just can’t find. Nothing but the the bloodrush beat behind an aching mind.
So cover what you can with a jacket to keep from prying eyes. Let out a tremble and a silent sigh. Pick him up and take him out of sight and know that things won’t ever be alright.
I'm going round and round,
and I'm afraid of falling off,
because I know that if I slip,
there is no catcher in the rye.
Innocence is never preserved,
and reaching for that ring is scary as hell,
things just don't stay the same,
and that's the truth.
It's so bitter sweet,
it's a torturous love,
it's the happiest you get,
and the hardest you fall.
But if I slip,
and if I fall,
will you catch me,
one last time?
Will You Catch Me One Last Time?
I'm 16, so I'm allowed to idolize Holden
***** girls with lousy guys, drives me crazy
Maybe you shouldn't feel too sorry.
Old Sally, so **** good-looking but a pain in the ***.
"Oh, darling, I love you."
"You're probably the only reason I'm in New York right now"
I told her I loved her; it was a lie.
felt like five hundred thousand years, looking at all the phonies.
Ivey League guys with ****** voices,
a witty bunch of actors drinking their tea
and rubbernecks stand around to watch.
I was a ******* wolf, just wondering for intellectual conversation.
Just give old Caulfield the time to spoil your evening
because he's not sorry at all.
"A small project I did for the Catcher in the Rye where we were to make poems with words from chapters 17-19. They are suppose to be about his relationship with Sally or the feelings he has about her. Enjoy!
Thank you ~
for a life not to trade
blessings, in spades
behind laundry doors
and open drawers
gator tails, tarnished brass
cracks in kitchen sliding glass
wet towels, withering plants
with carpenter ants
buckets piled with
shoes and tags
and broken walls
in bathroom stalls
and carbon fumes
from children’s pranks
and sidewalk dung
and hidden smiles
chalk on board
with mr miles
and open sores
for pig in poke
and silver tip
thick red tape
and pimple nape
so out of norm
the joy of life…
in basic form
it is easy to become lost in the blinding lights of new york city
and the deafening sound of yellow taxi cabs and screaming
neighbors and the chatter of mundane conversations between
people who are ghosts in every sense of the word with
their paper thin hearts and transparent minds and the inability
to feel something other than the heavy weight of coffee
in their stomachs
it is easy for people to say that when new york city was made
God himself struck down and said "let their be light" but all i ever
see is the blur of motion as everyone runs to jobs they
all hate working with people they despise and then spending
their money at stars that don't even shine in poorly lit movie
theaters when the real ones are in the sky and in new york
every expensive restaurant is vegan friendly and boasts animal
rights and shames everyone who doesn't but no one
ever wonders what happens to the ducks in central park during december
it is easy to fall in love with new york city.
with the magic that it spreads with the euphoria that you feel being
surrounded by others with it's almost frightening ability to
take away your loneliness and manipulate you into thinking you
are happy, it is easy to fall in love with new york city.
it is also easy for you to say that you lost yourself in new york
because even when you say it no one will hear you
over the sound of madison square garden and it is easy to
call new york paradise it is easy to call it the city that never
sleeps because everyone stuck there is paralyzed
i've often been told that i embody the catcher in the rye and i'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing