#untalented
I draw your name with a thin twig in a sand,
Like touching the surface of meanings by breath.
Sand grains flows together like dots on a chequered sheet
And lay down one-line in letters as shibboleth.
In every sand letter of your name there’s me,
Untalented, hopeless, irrelevant, but so tender.
The stray wind will blow away your name from me
And I will stay alone on a sand, unshod and in surrender.
Feb 11, 2025
Feb 11, 2025 at 4:07 PM UTC
verse
Distant memories feel like dreams
Thoughts of back then put me to sleep
My old friends, the stars who look down
Have even forgotten I still exist now
Can I forget i still exist now?
Can we just go on existing now?
Pre Chorus
I don’t care who sees or stares at me
I just want someone who’s there for me
Someone who will stop and stare
Not look away and doesn’t care
Chorus
This stupid town can go **** itself now
These ******* people can go away now
I just want to watch the stars
And greet them as old friends
On the hood my mom’s car
But i’ve seen how it ends
Jul 8, 2019
Jul 8, 2019 at 11:10 PM UTC
I am but a little nick on a giant diamond wall
etched with images
made by those who did something
who made a difference
who you can notice.
And I’m just a tiny scratch of a passerby
who wished they could leave a mark
like the huge images.
But they were blessed with a chisel
and all I have
are broken fingernails.
I try and try to carve something
to make a beautiful image
but it’s of no use.
I wasn’t born for this.
Only diamond can cut diamond.
And I am not like the diamonds.
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 11:56 PM UTC
I'm not good enough
I'm not small enough
I'm ugly
I'm untalented
I’m not smart enough
Not happy enough
I’m not enough.
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 10:37 PM UTC
Ordinary words in ordinary order
Slouch across the page unnoticed
Mundane metaphors and trite observations
Destroy catch phrases with every old saw
Memes are dragged behind overused hashtags
Until they morph into yesterday’s news
Dusty and bent and soiled on the edges
Same ole rehash of the same ole crap
Whitewashing the fence of involvement
The old wive’s tales are alternative facts
That dance to the tune of an illiterate piper
In a boring routine choreographed by
A sullen pre-teen who finds herself grounded.
Wherever you’re going,
You can’t get there from here.
ljm
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 8:44 AM UTC
Will the vibrations my footfalls make - make a difference?
Will they leave anything behind for the bugs and the rats in the ground?
The grit -
What will be left where my footprints sit?
Scuffs, scratches -
Or maybe I'll make the ground smooth where I walk
When I talk -
Do my words matter?
Will the things I say shatter -
Or create something new?
Will I leave a trail -
Or will I simply make a trail for someone else?
Does my foot tapping -
To other people's art -
Count as my own?
Or am I just a collection of reactions?
Unable to make others react?
Other people play piano
Other people sing
I can't do either
I can't do nothing
I can't do a single thing
Other people paint a picture
Other people dance
I've tried, I've failed
I can't do nothing
But I can't just do nothing anymore
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 1:24 PM UTC