With it's accompanying drives
Plus the scourge of teenage acne.
Most remedies would fail
Nothing ever worked well
While my face continued to attack me.
Father scoffed "Son I implore
If you scrub your face more
Then your acne will soon disappear."
Scrubbed as hard as I could
But it still did no good
Further proof that my case was severe.
Unsightly, painful and embarrassing...
By adulthood it stopped its harassing.
6/17/2019 - Poetry form: Rhyme - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
Hidden under countless sheets,
Behind lock and key,
Like I'm scared they'll see.
I really do love poetry,
The way it feels to write,
But I find myself embarrassed,
When in conversation,
A poetic stream slips out, free across the screen.
I don't know why I fear it so,
Or hope that it would go,
But I wish I didn't feel like this.
It's true that it's poetry I miss.
It used to be fun
juggling and making silly things,
for the sake of it.
I welcomed them in my life.
But not anymore,
now I am bored,
I'm fed up with them,
doing the same tricks,
pulling the faces,
making funny sounds.
They don't entertain me anymore,
they don't make me laugh.
They annoy me,
they bore me,
I don't want to watch them,
They can *******,
Often things go over my head
Miss subliminal meaning in words said
Am I really stupid because I do not understand
Innuendos the rest of the room can?
I will be the first to admit I'm unaware
There is more inside my skull than empty air
I remember when I was able to rely on my gut
When I wasn't always asking "what?"
Nowadays I am constantly left out
I am never quite sure what you're talking about
In the dark I am kept away
In a room shaded black and grey
Silence locks truth up tight
Concealing it out of my sight
Everybody is in on the most public joke
Except me beause I'm too blind to see through the smoke
I hope you don't think I'm stupid for asking questions
I am intelligent I just don't pay attention
My gullible nature may make me a breeze to trick
But the fact you see me as a target is sick
Sometimes I get the punchline too late
That doesn't make me a less suitable mate
Sorry for every embarrassing thing I have said
I don't know why but things too often go way above my head
I hate feeling like everyone is in on some joke that you don't get
Got a notice
On the freaking
That a piece of embarrassing
That I did not
Is like Ebola
Thinks that I
Madly in love
With the Dalai Lama.
I am a loser.
Like a freak
I try to stick my
In a hole
My **** nose.
And the food
Because of art
Flying at my
imagine a world that would allow you
to see yourself through your love’s eyes;
you’d see the things that make you beautiful.
like the gap between your teeth,
or the scars below your lip.
completely embrace the defects that meet in the middle,
stretching from each side of your chest.
there’s no sadness in your eyes,
that embarrassing trait matters a lot less.
standing before you would be a person that deserves love
and needs to be loved by you.
of my chewing
**** in the
Aware of that someone is a stray but let me finish my lunch
C h a i r
Hung in space
In the air
And my, me, myself, I,
On the floor, ego dead.
I discovered your work on a poetry site
seeking #funny rhymes - like I like to write.
And was delighted to be reminded of
this silly boy I used to love
and my awesome dad whose subversive wit
made my sense of humor... off a bit.
And it made me think of writing you.
Which is something I've never thought to do.
Writing strangers is a toss of the dice
Who knows who's on the other side?
But it gnawed at me for a few more days
So finally I gave into the craze...
And I googled you and was shocked to learn...
Holy crap - you're like - famous.
And holier crappier still - you're like a famous successful internet and stand up comedian - and jeepers film director apparently now too - which is the saddest thing as I spent a large chunk of my career so far working on internet protocol standards - and apparently have no idea what actually happened on the internet in the last 10 years. I'm not that old but apparently really lame... sigh...back to poem now.
So my mind began to retreat and twirl
I am for sure not just some Teen Beat fan girl.
Disconcerting to go from seeing connection
To knowing it's just out of the question.
And of course I am embarrassed too
to think I'd discovered something new!
To think you'd be someone just like me
With time to trade some verse for free.
It's like - you think you saw a rainbow
Or heard a song that no one else knows.
You lucked into them - you didn't earn them
Then you realize - you have to burn 'em.
So sadly I can't write you for real -
I'm sorry it's just too surreal.
I'll assume your account on here a corporate sham
Or a catfish running some lame scam.
But if you were the friend I sought -
Your authentic voice not yet been bought -
What would I have said anyway?
And what did I want you to say?
I'd probably say I find your work unique
And I hoped you'd keep up on your streak
And that you touched my heart a little bit
And made me smile with your slick wit.
And maybe I hoped you'd like my art
Or challenge me to play a different part
Or question more why I'm on here..
While method acting through a tech career.
Curiosity will force me to explore
Your other work - of that I'm sure.
But if you ever see this poem, know it -
Someone out here first saw you as a poet.
This strange discovery made me think a lot. I think fan mail for famous people is totally weird and uncomfortable because you are basically approaching someone's persona - not them as a person - and saying you like something about that. I guess that's not bad per se and probably meant to be nice and complimentary, but it isn't real.
I added a ? to the title because in retrospect I almost wish I’d never looked him up and just enjoyed the poetry and could consider him a parallel kindred spirit like I do with other people whose work I’ve discovered here.. I bet he is just another writer like the rest of us who would be cool to have coffee and talk poetry with. It troubles me that knowing this other dimension influences my perception even if I don’t want it to.