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?

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 are

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

New people.

Selfishly,

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

To me.

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.

When I was in 6th grade, I asked a teacher if she was pregnant.

She was not.

True mortification.

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

#poetry

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.

#poetry

*This poem isn't about me in case anyone was mistaken