i defy myself
every time i define myself
just to prove myself wrong
oh, whoops i proved myself right
  
                   i dont know what im looking for
                   but i know it when i see it
                   then i forget to be it
                   oh, whoops i forgot all of it

         i think i know more than i think i do
         never know what to do with myself
         im in several places all at once
         oh, whoops i never moved at all

After years of toil, and digging through the soil,
an old man may still look for purpose,
or just for that one who made him feel,
joyous emotional inspiration.
He may have shuffled his deck;

but the only card she saw was the fool,
he may be an ace of spades, or a king of hearts,
but the only card she saw was the fool.

So he will struggle, onwards to the end,
be it victory,
or history...

I've been asking a lot of questions lately
Trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do
And where I'm supposed to go
I don't think I'm asking too much: just a simple yes or no
That's all I want that's all I really need
I've been asking for so long and wondering whether you can hear me
So I start to doubt and my hope wanes a little

Corroded glares emaciate
the surroundings, all that
was is now woven in despair.

The sadness enveloped in
tired souls painting around
this tide of decaying vision.

But within this sulphuric
black look, suffocating any
emotion looking within.

*"Beauty is a corruption,
                          of our egos,

Her brush slides
across the paper.
As she looks down
at the creation,
Her face filled with
Pain.
Sorrow.
Lonliness.
She is searching......
As the brush spreads
black paint...
She stares down,
Upon the artwork.
Unable,
to find.
What she is looking for.

Nose Prints…by Jessie 2/07

Little nose prints on the glass
Evidence of curiosity
Mesmerized by goings on
Intriguing and captivating
Holding long bouts of attention
Ten little finger prints on the glass
Stationing, for a closer look
Starving to see more
Intensely interested
What charms tantalize the senses?
Focused in daydream
Invisible to those who see you
The moment has passed
You are on your way
Left behind… little nose prints on the glass

is poetry really something you think about

like, can this be considered poetry?
me, here

sitting at a computer screen
typing words ever so

conversationally

this reads less like a poem
and more like a speech
or perhaps, like a friend
telling you their day over coffee
and I bet right now you can smell the roasted beans
the air, thick with the smell of caffeine, whipped cream,
possibly a cigar or two

and you hear the voice of your best friend
who's telling you about their day

how they had it rough that day
Ben from accounting really knew how to ruin a day, let me tell you
or perhaps,
someone just spilled coffee all over their notes while they were studying

and as much as fifty apologies can mend a relationship,
fifty apologies can't dry up your english notes

can we really consider this kind of stuff poetry?
it's completely free-form
against the norm,
little to no rhyme or structure
no substance whatsoever

just a mindless person rambling about things that seem ever so slightly relatable

is this really poetry?

probably not.