What Kind of Life Has It Been

I wish I had the Poet's gift.
To shape my thoughts, my feelings
Into words and metaphors and imagery and anything
Anything that would make how I feel jump right into peoples' minds.

I see it in other people's poems.
I see it and I sigh, thinking
If I tried to do that I'd end up with some stupid piece of prose, only with weird line breaks in it and it wouldn't have any of the power of a poem or any real signifigance at all.
Damn.

I don't think I've ever been in love.
My experience of the world tells me 16-year-olds don't fall in love.
But if I ever fell in love, it was with you.
And if I never fell in love, then I don't know what to call what I feel for you.

When we're together, or talking on the phone
Even when I just see your picture on the nightstand in my room,
There is a feeling I've never found elsewhere -
A rush, an excitement, a passion

When we're apart, when you leave or hang up,
When I've seen the picture and become nostalgic,
There is another feeling I seldom feel -
A sadness, a crushed spirit, a broken heart

I can't let go of you
Of the thought of you, of the reality of you
Of the possibility of you.
And when I can't let go, I can't hold on to anyone else.
But I still can't hold you.

We're locked, you and I, in this tragic dance
We can't grow closer,
We can't get any further apart,
And where does that leave us?

This isn't a poem.
It's a rant and a ramble, It's the raw pouring of thoughts and feelings into words,
But it isn't a poem.
I wish it was.
You'd understand a poem.
You'd even find it beautiful.
But this will have to do.

Just as well you'll never see it.

posted by Jonah Comstock # 8:34 PM

Comments:

I call that a poem.

# posted by

Evey : February 17, 2005 at 9:13 PM

if it makes you feel any better, here's my crappy poetry. your's is much better

Alone
People all around me
But I can talk to no one
Except this piece of paper
That can't give me an answer

Frustrated
Because she seems so unaffected
She must realize I can't bear this pain
Because she shuts me out
I don't know at all how she's feeling
Because I can't figure out why I need to know
It's really not any of my business

Hurried
Riding on this street towards home
I'm amidst all these people
And yet I feel alone
No one can be bothered, society so busy
No one looks besides themselves
To see everyone else just as dizzy
I think humanity would benefit
To slow down, read a book or
Show their families that they give a s***
That's just my opinion:
Stop focusing on work and deadlines
And pay attention to why we have them

Standards
All the sheep jump through their hoops
To meet the status quo
Why do they all look happier
Then the cows mocking them

Listen
People always talking
Speaking words but not saying anything
No one pays attention
Empty conversations
What we feel is left inside
As we talk about the weather

I don't know
I don't know why I am depressed
I don't know why I can't move on
I don't know why I am killing myself bit by bit
I don't know why I ask so many questions
I don't know why I can't make her love me
I don't know why I want to
I don't know why I can't make it go away
I'm beginning to think I don't know anything

School
This is my chance to rant an rave
About how teachers think
That their method is the only way
Homework is more important than what you've learned
A's on all the tests
And a C is what I've earned.

Time
Time heals no wounds
I feel worse than three months ago
Why has it hit me so hard
After I've already accepted it?

Torn
I want her to leave
So it'd be simpler
I want her to stay
Because I love her
I want her to leave
So she'll be happier
Why do I still care how she fells?
Why can't I be selfish?

I am the ground
People walk all over me
And I can't seem to stop it
I do things for people
And am the butt for all their jokes
I am their source of entertainment
Laughing as I harden myself

Fitting in
People change who they are
To get into their cliques
Sometimes I feel like the only person
Actually being who I really am
Maybe that's why I'll have no friends next year
That I can really talk to

# posted by

Matthew : February 19, 2005 at 12:14 AM

Someday, literature teachers are gonna look at that, and love it. And some kid like Jimmy is gonna be all "What was this guy smoking" until he get's the "symbolism", then he'll be all like "oooh"

Or maybe not.

# posted by

Nathaniel Cornstalk : February 23, 2005 at 5:56 PM

What Kind of Life Has It Been

17 February 2005

The Poet's Gift

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