Z - Hello Poetry

Z Nov 2012

(in)sensitive.
which one am i?
both.
or maybe neither.
senses, sensing, emotion.
sometimes, i shut myself off from that.
i don't want to cry,
get upset,
be bothered.
i don't want to be angry,
misunderstood,
apathetic.
too much of one,
too little of another.
i guess i can't be both.
i just don't want to be,
(in)sensitive.

Z Nov 2012

hercules.

its said that children dream
of magical heroes,
much like hercules.
or superman.
the avengers.
or power rangers.
they place all their faith
in these mythical strangers.
strangers who fight all the "bad",
and restore all the "good",
as if the heroes themselves,
are never misunderstood.
as if superman,
never lost a single fight,
and the red power-ranger,
never tossed and turned at night.
as if hercules,
never wished he wasn't as strong,
as if the avengers,
always got along.
what children don't realize,
when reading these books,
and watching these shows,
is that everyone has problems,
even the bravest heroes.

Z Nov 2012

grace.

when i was younger,
my mother called me "grace".
she called me grace,
because that was exactly the thing that i lacked.
thinking about it now,
it occurs to me..
that that is a very sad thing:
to be named after something you lack.
if someone wanted to call me
a name
based on something
i can't do,
or don't have,
or am not,
maybe they would call me..
clear. for i am never quite clear on what i want.
maybe they would call me..
pure. for i have sinned a thousand times.
maybe they would call me..
shame. for i have no shame about the life i have chosen.
maybe they would call me..
beautiful. for many things about me are not quite beautiful.
maybe they would call me..
honesty. for i'm supremely good at spouting lies.
maybe they would call me..
found. for i have never, ever, been so lost.

Z Nov 2012

fitting in(sidethelines).

i wish i could reside,
inside the tiny box,
with the thickly drawn lines.
i wish i could abide,
by the rules,
but instead i decide,
to come out,
be heard,
and not hide.
i can't seem to find,
a way inside,
that tiny box,
with the thickly drawn lines.
because my mind,
craves the freedom,
of leaving
these secrets
behind.

It's hard to make yourself be someone who you aren't. This poem's about being yourself.

Z Nov 2012

elections. and imperfections.

i really don't care,
                 as you sit here and tell me,
about the number votes,
        or when i keep thinking about,
                          the ache in my throat,
          when i think about how
   you leave me thousands of notes,
    telling me i'm your world,
and you love me and need me so dear,
                           i know you aren't lying,
that much is clear.
                but the words had no meaning,
even though i know that they should,
                    and you always tell me,
you'd marry me now if you could.
        and i feel like you mean it,
and it makes me sad,
        when you say i'm the best thing,
that you've ever had.
        you deserve so much more,
then me by your side,
                          but you stay here and hold me,
through all the rollings of the tide.
                      and that makes me wonder,
what's wrong with me?
                       you love me,
                  and need me,
that i can see.
        and i once read something,
that stung like a smack,
                     "you always love the person,
       who can't love you back."
and another thing,
        that runs through my mind like a train,
     goes:
    "the person who you love, and the person that loves you,
                       well,
                       they are never, ever, the same."
i do my best
     to love you,
            and give you my heart,
but i know in truth,
              you only hold
a small part.

Z Nov 2012

dreams and things. part six. (things were out of control).

when she was a junior,
things were out of control.
and her days were spent,
living in secrets,
trying to figure out,
exactly who she was,
and what she was doing,
and why she felt the way she did.
and she spent her time thinking,
about the things she kept inside,
and wondering how long,
she could keep carrying the weight,
of unspoken words.
and she was never there,
when her dad came home from work.
and she ate dinner in a different house,
with a different family,
and everything was exciting,
and new,
and she didn't have to ask,
if she could be excused,
but she did anyway.
and she didn't have to help,
with all the chores,
but she did the dishes anyway.
and afterwards,
the two best friends would sneak,
into the back bedroom,
and they would do things,
that two girls
should not do.
and they would explore things,
that made her uneasy.
and before she went to sleep,
in a house that was not hers,
she would get a kiss "goodnight",
but it wasn't from her mom.
and she would think about the secrets,
that she always kept inside.
and things were out of control.

Part six. The last one's coming up next.

Z Nov 2012

dreams and things. part five. (things were looking up).

when she was a sophomore,
things were looking up.
her days were spent laughing,
with her very best friends,
and acting silly,
where ever she was.
she spent all her time,
taking pictures,
so she wouldn't forget,
the things that made her smile.
and she watched her daddy,
as he come home from work,
and kissed her mom in the kitchen,
and they cooked dinner together,
and ate as a family once again.
and she told her parents about her day,
not leaving out a single detail.
and when she was excused,
she would help her mom with the dishes,
and they would laugh together.
and when she was finished,
she would find something fun to do,
and laugh until her stomach hurt.
and she would say "goodnight" to her parents,
and finish all her homework,
and she would fall asleep,
thinking of her dreams,
and things were looking up.

Part five. Almost finished!