Tag Archives: poem

Poetry: Maybe If

Romanticizing is for the birds
And I’m the air they fly through
There was so much I wanted to say, tonight,
But I was too afraid to.

Maybe if I didn’t think through it so much,
Maybe if I had gone ahead and bought the dress,
Maybe if I hadn’t been so nervous,
Maybe if you had given me some assurance.

A friend described you to me once,
And I decided I liked you instantly.
You became a place I went to in my mind
When life wouldn’t stop pushing me.

Maybe I’m overthinking this when you haven’t given me a thought,
Maybe life hasn’t yet given me lessons I need to be taught,
Maybe I’m simply not good enough or not ready yet
Maybe love is rain and you’re not ready to get wet.

I wish you would’ve held my hand,
And put to death my anixety,
You could’ve even said you weren’t interested,
I trust you not to lie to me.

Maybe we had too much in common, but not enough to talk about,
Maybe I built you up too high in my mind, left so much room to doubt,
Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and realize you were just a dream,
Maybe it’ll hit me that you were never meant for me.

By the end of the cup that had been my tea,
There was no clarity on what could produce
Between you and me. But to your credit,
You couldn’t have known I needed any.

Maybe I went crazy and loved someone I’ve never met
Because I knew at least in my head, I couldn’t be hurt, yet
I never really wanted to hang out with you, and that’s the truth.
I just wanted to admire you from afar, to keep you this obtuse.

But I’m just some girl and you’re that guy in the band
With the handsome face and the holdable hands.
The worst part is, you weren’t too good to be true,
You were obviously real, just not really that into

Maybe I’m too much of this and not enough of that,
Maybe you’re too exciting or maybe I’m too fat,
Maybe in another life or on a different day,
Maybe if I had had something impressive to say…


Poetry: Union by Conformity

A union by conformity,
Separateness, the tragedy,
Our heart’s an open wound,

A government or enemy,
Our collective fear,
Such distance from our brothers,
Do we start to disappear?

I’ve no need for time and space
No physics suits my soul,
Transcendental is the beauty
as the story comes unfold.

The haze removes itself
From the corners of our mind
And we remember the age-old secret
We searched so long to find

The man caught in the web of mundanity
will ultimately forget that he’s a man
And he’s but one life to live;

One chance for sorrow,
One chance for love,
One chance to forget tomorrow,
One chance to give.

Poetry: The Will to Fight

I know laying on the bathroom floor,
Feeling the cold tile beneath your ass
Isn’t how you pictured this moment before
So, ruminate through the memories of your past
while you unwittingly give yourself
to things you know can’t last

Bad ideas are horrible to entertain
Just like scary thoughts aren’t what you want to retain.
But sometimes you don’t have a choice
Sometimes submission isn’t an option,
But rather a demand.

So you give it time to grow in the dirt of your mind
Even fed it some sunlight; Before you knew it,
You had made giants of your plights, forgetting,
No one ever instilled in you, any will to fight.

Poetry: Stone in My Soul

Empty and cold,
A stone in my soul,
The bricks of decay,
Leave me open and alone.

Sorrow is a word, and that’s all I’ll venture to know about it.
I can’t write anymore than I can cry,
Given towards tendencies for pain, life is a bitch.
My spirit boils over and my flesh begins to die.

Spoils of resentment lead me to the noose,
And, behold, it’s already tied,
My one last favor,
On my favorite ride.

There’s a ledge beyond yonder,
So let’s get in the car and go,
I haven’t the patience to wonder anymore
If we’re really going to reap all we sow.

Poetry: Maybe The Universe is God’s Brain, But I Want His Heart

Heartbeats like lonely fists,
Knocking on countless doors,
Searching for a vain love, or a dim light,
For we refuse to receive what our flesh abhors.

Even in our selfishness, we find rest,
But love is vitality. Without it,
We act like angry children,
Taken suddenly from the breast.

I’m sick of this world and all its attitudes,
It’ll never change, never choose the truth,
So I’ll rise away from all its platitudes,
To the God they thought lacked proof.

Sloppy, Unfinished Poetry: As If

She was trapped with the sounds
of the last song reverberating
from hair to hair inside
the outer part of her ear

and she was twirling on her unmoving chair,
nervously, looking around at all the folks
of her foolish generation,
wondering why they all hide,
incessantly, behind the faces
of new technology

as if a voice, formally genuine,
could crush the air that sustains them,
as if there was nothing, but darkness
surrounding around their light,
only things with which to stain them.

High Falls Business Center

Closely monitored in this glass house
I appear to be on sale, or maybe just for show.
I can hear the fizzing coming from the temp agency’s baby monitor.
I can see its long, gleaning silver neck from the corner of my eye,
maintaining the posture of a ballerina as it sits, like a poacher,
waiting to pounce, like a pariah, on its prey with the slip of one mistake.

every car is their car, the one sent to take me away.
every face is their face, looking down at me in shame.
you barely missed it, you didn’t make the cut, they’ll say
right before they’ll ask me to leave the lifeboat
leaving me in freezing waters, alone, to sway.