sometimes I hate that I write poems. as if I have nothing better to do? as if there is catharsis in only writing a few lines of words arranged in specific order to elicit a certain feeling? sometimes I wish the feeling would just beat it; get out the door and walk away. life would be easier if you didn't feel. but it would be boring. to completely contradict myself though, feeling is the only thing that keeps me moving. my ideals and me are constructed based around being affected; by injustice, by beauty, by horror, by camaraderie, by fragmentation. so if I didn't feel I wouldn't be me, but the feeling is so strong sometimes I feel empty, therefore a lack of feeling. I am just a bizarre carousel, aren't I?
anyway, the poem...it's untitled as of yet
because I say what I am
I say less
than you know.
to say is not thinking
but living.
autumn is my
worst nostalgia
and august
my nightmare.
when heat does not rise
these days lay down.
i have been standing three months
straight.
we are not the best,
i have no such pride.
we are the best that we know
though.
what else is there
but to know what you know
and ignore the rest?
2 comments:
Cool poem. I like the preface, with the contemplation of what life would be like without emotions. I’m pretty sure that modern pharmaceutical companies make the whole life-without-emotions angle attainable, for a twenty dollar co-pay. And I’m also pretty sure that the majority of my coworkers are on a blend of those same pharmaceuticals right now, as per their morning pill trading sessions, when a fellow cowork will trade a Darvoset for two Xanax. A fun game I have devised involves trying to figure out which prescription they may be on, as denoted by their oft-peculiar behaviors and various side-effects demonstrated. It’s always a toss-up but rarely is it very boring. You should try it sometime.
I like your poems.
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