Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this
really
talent?
Art?
Effort?

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
intentional
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just
pretentious?

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?

the pain isn't hard to bare.
until you forget that it resides in the very back part of your brain,
waiting to be released at the perfect moment.

the slightest touch of a male,
a kiss on the cheek, neck, thigh.
the kiss of uncertainty and disloyalty.

the memories begin to fill you up inside.
your lover doesn't know what he's done.
you slip away from him faster than the air slipped from your lungs the first time.

pulsating through your veins,
is the feeling of deep fear.
what if he comes back?
what if he wants more of you?

oh, dear god he's thinking of all the ways to torture you.
look at his eyes. his mouth and the way it curves into a malicious smile.
the vigorous breathing, representing the oxygen he's stolen from you.

the tears are rolling now.
right down your right cheek where he caressed your beauty the first time.
right where you never wanted to be touched again.

it's only ever hard to bare,
when the perfect moment arises.

you filled me up to the brim with a soothing feeling of hope and safety.

on the cap goes and we're off to a new destination once again.

into my seat i sit with an empty space for someone like me to the left. the space is taken by receipts and memories of our travels. how nice to know i'm the only one.

you ***** the cap off, take a sip, on the cap goes and i'm back in my special spot. i'm no longer filled to the brim.

your boyfriends house. i'll just sit on the bench while you enjoy his company.

you come over, ***** the cap off, take a gulp, on the cap goes and i'm back on the bench. i'm half empty now.

i'm growing tired. my energy is disintegrating. it's inside you now.

it's time to leave? finally. you pick me up, hold me to your car, you throw me on the passenger seat and to home we go. i'm getting less important now.

we're at a red light, ***** the cap off, swallow me up, on the cap goes and i'm on the passenger seat again. i'm empty now.

you pick me up, realise i'm empty, put me down and frown.
"well this is no use to me now" you say... you walk over to your trash can, throw me in and close the lid.

oh, i see. you are done with using me i guess. have fun with your other water bottle.