She is weird they say
But little they are aware
she is just anyone wrapped
in the weirdness she wear.
She is a nerd they say
But little they know
It is a way
to escape her life's woe.
She is the girl once, they say
with a goofy grin.
But now they wonder
where is the goofy girl?
And so she say.
'Oh you, I'm here.
Scarred and scared more
of the demons that come tapping at my heart's door.
Demons entreating to enter my soul
Demons if I embrace will render
my existence easier.
But I refuse to surrender.
Instead I choose the hard way,
the right way to go.
For even in the darkest night
will flicker a little star of hope is the vow.'
My first poem that I ever wrote.
Write a book.
That’s what everyone tells me to do.
But what if it’s not my story to tell?
What if I don’t want to write a book?
What if the stories I have to tell are much deeper then any of them could ever dream?
Write a book they say.
My thoughts would flow off the page.
The story would never end.
The story I would write would not be the one that they want to hear.
Write a book they said.
What if I write a book?
Will it end the thoughts I have?
Will the finality finally sink in?
Will they be mad it’s not the story they want to hear?
Write a book, they said.
I will not be writing a book. But I have been told to write one.
I challenge that
if I'm not right
I'll eat my hat
a palindromic pantoum?
or pantoumic palindrome?
would you find it in
a poetry tome?
the proverbial pig
that can fly?
a snowball fight
with no repeat?
now that would be
an awesome feat
an honest politician?
(not for long)
but then they all
can do no wrong
a rolling stone covered
around one's neck
a real albatross?
a snowball in...
well you know where?
a true challenge
I do declare
a serious word
when I'm this daft?
doubt it, bloke
that's a different craft
So stupid! Just really playing with rhymes!
They say many things.
Don't judge a book by its cover,
Yet they always choose the same.
Do as you would be done by,
Yet ignore the poor the same.
Money is the root of all evil,
Yet it kills them all the same.
More sinned against than sinning,
Yet crime lives all the same.
They say many things,
The whispering snakes,
That live inside our heads,
That make everything perfectly rational;
*Just do the right thing instead.
A poem on kindness and the monsters in our own heads which excuse the lack of it.
They say your eyes remain the same size
as they are the second that you were born.
It's a shame that we can't see immediately
the world for what it truly is.
It's a shame that we can't see the pain
of being different, of poverty, of hunger.
Of being gay, or being yourself.
It's a shame these eyes we live with all our lives,
can't see these things that could save us
from years of pain.
They say every cloud has a silver lining.
Funny, I still can't see it.
they say that when you kiss someone you've wanted for so long
that it's the best thing and is never wrong
well I wouldn't know, would I?
wrong seems to be our middle name
they say when you're lying awake I'm dreaming of you
i say that all of our dreaming is through
they say we're out of the woods and everything is fine
are we really ever in the clear and is anything ever really mine?
they say people were split in half and those halves are soul mates
maybe we were meant to hate
they say things are never over until they're okay
but things really never are, are they?
they say that their words are true
can I say the same for you?
but guess why.
because everybody lies.
— The End —