I cannot say I enjoy this age,
rampant with typical teenage angst
of near acknowledgement
of unwanted realities,
of necessary morality,
blocked by immaturity.
And yet it is here I thrive,
with a short term memory
that aids me on tests
and lets me stand atop the rest.
A temporary pride
that quickly becomes vanity.
I fear these years will be my peak,
a peak that cannot even beat
many peers around me.
One of my friends is a very good writer,
and prides herself on being so,
but I pride myself on the same thing,
hence a conflict is made,
because one of us must be better,
“and I’m pretty damn sure it’s me.”
“and I’m pretty damn sure it’s me.”
Or maybe I’m not so sure after all.
I do not want this to be my culmination,
this classroom dominance.
These awkward words and rising anger
befuddled by hundred percents.
“I believe I can be better.”
But I’m not so sure I believe.
I only hope I remain unfettered
by a mundane life of ease.
This should not be my go-to.
I should be writing a story,
I should be doing my math class.
I should be doing a thousand things
That don’t involve sitting in front of this screen.
I should learn to count better beats.
I should learn to work for a realistic dream.
But I know,
It’s just not going to happen.
The goals for my future can be seen
In these simple three things:
A salary that will enable me
To go to a café whenever I please.
A partner who will remain loving
When I’m not as patient as I seem.
A house I can return to happily
That is at least moderately clean.
Achieving them sounds almost easy,
But why do they feel so out of reach?
I Don’t Enjoy a Consistent Sun
Life doesn’t consciously care for breaks,
Yet it takes them in its own unique ways.
A sudden wind on a scorching day,
Rain to wash the dirt away.
You claimed the pain was necessary,
Even though it was quite contrary
To your optimistic ideologies
That it wasn’t enough to just appease.
A single chocolate was all you bought,
Eaten with the dirty hands you wrought.
You were too stuck in your future thoughts,
Wrapped up in time and yourself in knots.
It’s remarkable how you could pretend
Your growing misery was your friend.
There was no need for fake amends
On your painful path that never ends.
We’ve come so far, but I must apologize,
For I find no worth in maintaining our ties.
The surprise cool weather lets me fly,
So a desert-stuck man can’t be my ally.
you and Me
Someone I know far too little,
Yet don’t really care to learn more about.
You’re much better off in my head,
Says all my disappointments,
As I came to meet
I will only idolize you when
I can somewhat imagine you idolize me.
When I can form in my imagination
You with a painful obsession,
You appeal more
A bitter day emphasized by tapping keys,
and raindrops sliding slowly down.
Clouds fly outside with never ending pleas;
static silence in a white noise town.
Neon light shines on a ghostly pale face,
its body blanketed by the shadow.
A musty stench flows and an acrid taste
is left behind from a languid lotto.
In tune with the keys, a single die rolls
across the wily, wooden boards.
A dog whose tongue indefinitely lolls
lies by the die with fakeful force.
Thunder compliments keys so quickly pressed;
an honest harmony of mossy melodies.
And puddles outside splatter attempts to contest;
constant cries for impossible longevity.
The white noise town is stagnant at peace,
sleeping soundly the days away.
But the dog by the die barks so suddenly,
a nd the town is thrust into its destined disarray.
Spinning, twisting, lacking luster.
Once upon a beautiful blunder,
You looked at me through the shutters,
Dully with a lazy wonder.
Spinning, falling, crouching down.
Cannot breathe, won’t make a sound.
Your voice, it twirls round and round,
A whisper somehow got this loud.
Spinning, dizzy, running away.
Steps that hold a nauseous sway.
You enjoy this sort of boring play,
One inch closer, one less day.
Peace under Forest Leaves
Something rots under leaves of the forest ground,
still, quiet, and peacefully pained.
Forgotten and pitied, but still earthbound,
not yet able to fly away.
Nothing’s calmer than the forest breeze,
unnerving comfort for lost minds alike.
Why must you stay, what must you appease,
to curse yourself with eternal sight.
In silence a man talks of a woman’s song
floating gently around the trees.
A voice so sweet was inevitably lost,
living on only in memories.
Love in the forest warps to a bitter truth,
one that stays amid the decay.
One that reminds of his hopeful youth
and all that’s left today.
A man rots alone under leaves of the forest ground,
wondering what it was that kept him there.
Existence forgotten, yet he’s still earthbound,
left with only his longful stare.
Poor, poor melodious fish
Thought she could swim so high
But swam too far from the limp
Swam too far from comfort’s eyes
Poor, poor fish sang so well
Better than all I’ve known
But waters are shallow
and secretly callow
Are all of those whom I’ve known
Her notes entwined with a dirty pride
Sharpening them to a pointed screech
And the screech was lovely in its lie
But her wonder lied beyond its reach
Poor, poor fish screamed so loud
Just to have them glance at her
But attention may vary
and the pity was scary
When the glances didn’t care to return
Fish, stop, you’re going to bust
You’re going to break and scatter
Fish, please, control your lust
You’re about to fall and shatter--
Oh you poor, broken fish
Wouldn’t you look at you now?
Poor, poor melodious fish
Managed to make yourself drown
Fish, you swam right into
waters that didn’t want you
Expected it to all end well--
fish, poor fish, you were a fool
I saw your mommy away from home
early evening once again
I saw your mommy richen her tone
with money you can’t spend
I saw your mommy walk to church
with a golden galore she wore
I saw your mommy bend and hurt
while other mommies cried for her
And I saw her gleam with you in her eyes
and swears right on her lips
She said she wanted to see you fly
while you trembled at her hips
I saw her teeth in her large, wide smile
yellow, rotting decay
I heard her shoes on cracking tile
and I ran away
Your mommy sang of better times
that have yet to exist
Your mommy sang sweet, sweet lies
yet nothing seemed amiss
Your mommy sang loudly all sorts of laud
to show you off like a trophy’s shine
But she only shrieked behind her facade
watching you through bottles of wine
Only I could see you broken and worn
in the mirror when you let loose
Only I could right your wrongful scorn
because I knew the unknown truth
But a reflection may offer no true aid
only a useless sympathy
And no one could warrant my burning hate
for all the times with Mommy and me.
*This poem isn't about me in case anyone was mistaken