I Am Something
Oh no! Don’t tell me I’m nothing -
something lives inside my head,
my black eyes have seen it all.
I leave my calling card on doorsteps,
scattering echoes of wind as proof
that I am a new beginning, waiting
for the fog on the deserted road
to develop wings and begin to fly.
I bare my tainted pen, becoming
something in shadows climbing
over empty spaces, leaving space
for something echoing in soup bowls.
Feed me! Feed my emptiness of soul -
move the migraines in my cloudy vault,
follow footprints into charisma of dawn.
I may mean nothing but I am your world
your empty spot, just waiting to be filled.
Not Short on Vanity
I am like a Faulkner novel... if you can put up with the poor punctuation, the occasional run on sentence, and a general long-windedness then you might find the golden nuggets hidden amongst the weeds.
“Let the writer take up surgery or bricklaying if he is interested in technique. There is no mechanical way to get the writing done, no shortcut. The young writer would be a fool to follow a theory. Teach yourself by your own mistakes; people learn only by error. The good artist believes that nobody is good enough to give him advice. He has supreme vanity. No matter how much he admires the old writer, he wants to beat him.”
- William Faulkner
On the outside, I am mundane
Within my depths, sheer chaos reigns.
Like the others, lined up neatly
Hiding dirty secrets sweetly.
I am that place where things are swept,
Bits and bobs and knowledge kept.
I can help you find that thing you need,
Or prick your finger, watch it bleed.
Into my universe things are smashed,
But don’t you ever call it trash.
Figures... I was Lucy in the Sky
Ours was but a metaphor
Jeweled allegories spun
Symbols of a tale, its score
Plays on comparison
You, a mythic fable
My first love, figuratively
Faux fur, passed off as sable
Worn out with analogies
You plagiarized the legends
Silk bouquets with sterile seeds
Word paintings you’d rescind
When my blind eyes read empty deeds
The world is like a library. Every person has their own story.
I'm like the tiny classic novel in the corner, with a green-leather cover, hidden by the colorful YA novels and Graphic Novels.
You may notice me, but ignore me.
If only you had opened me. You would have learned so much more.