It's insecurity I think
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What drives me to write.
I'm never so cool
As when I paint the world
With words on a canvas.
I can ask out a girl
All six foot of me
And a girl
Call for help
Or look at her friend
In the way girls do
As if they were about to be raped.
All I said was hi.
Maybe it's my height
Maybe it's the knife in my hand
(Maybe it's my wry sense of humor)
Or maybe it's a sense of urgency
That single moment
Of feeling, want, hope, or drunk
Dances out, is coughed up
Regardless how I may intend it
It Is the only life I have to live.
And no matter how much vitality
Or sheer elegance I instill
In the most reverent of parchment
I still hide away from the incongruence of reality
With these scribbles.
Nothing compares to a good fuck.
That's not anything
I would ever say.
Is not always elegant
Takes time we don't have
And that this poem
May very well be killing
The truth behind my words.
But goddamn it all if I don't love the world
I tend to with my false imaginings.
I care deeply for them
More so than that bitch has ever cared
She lives in her permanent fear
And I live as I choose in a world that isn't real.
I am what psychologists call crazy
Because I have drifted so far from so many points.
And branched my thoughts so fibrously.
(Really I'm reading the poem now midways through my third revision and it's like watching schizophrenia unfold before your eyes. There are so many emotions that have nothing to do with each other. It's hilarious and disturbing because I have no idea what's going on.)
And sometimes I am so detached that I can not separate
The real from the false.
But now is not one of those moments
(I wrote this line before I realized that now was one of those moments. lol)
And so long as I foresee the patterns of life
And preempt it with creative nonsense
No one will ever know the difference
Not even that stupid bitch
(I wrote this last part after realizing what all has happened)
Unless I write it down in a poem
And read it to myself at some later time
And watch as my words unravel
Into something almost pitiful
It's insecurity I thought
What happened to all my confidence
I should rename the poem
I've lost my focus
And this poem is changed
I've written myself in on another level
And don't even know any more
How to continue
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//Hey Lit.org I've missed you guys. It's been a really long while since I've last written or posted anything. I've always enjoyed sharing my stuff with the people on this network. I look forward to reading everyone's new stuff. See ya'll on the commentaries. Oh hey where does the conversations take place. Is there a forum or do people mostly message each other. Is there a facebook group or something?
Geez what a fucked up poem that was. Happy critiquing.