Your red hair never grew long enough,
to cover up a little more than what you’ve done,
longer than your head could handle,
or the letters in your name.
The little left over for the little good,
still inside somewhere, just look,
to keep it deep down inside,
and pay no mind while you walk the line.
People Don’t Change
Even though I know that you can’t see,
For some reason people still think,
That you could change,
Or at least try and be,
Someone who wants to do the right thing.
Even though you can’t change that I can see,
I know enough to not do the wrong thing,
And I don’t need to hold back,
Because empathy is not something I lack,
And you are the one who sees a match.
Even if I can’t pinpoint it fully, this photo sums up how I’ve been feeling.
Life just feels like an endless loop, but the size keeps changing. Like I can drop from a large loop, back to that one day in January of this year that didn’t go that well. It really was fine, but I felt, and still feel, weird about it and at any time I can just soak in that feeling.
Fighting That Special Someone
what are you trying to prove by going on,
thinking someone makes the decisions,
and you don’t come out well in them,
that your fighting that special someone,
because when you see them gone,
you proved no one wrong.
Because you seem like everything rests,
but some hands are crushing it instead,
just to see you dead because you want the same for them.
You really need to stop and see,
there seems to be nothing you all want to do.
You want different things,
but you still don’t see.
Everything Is Always Dying
are you taking your time wisely,
doing what you need to do to find these
people that you claim are taking everything,
making mistakes everyday,
and are still walking?
do you really think you’re taking everything?
trying to change these things you think we all can see?
and nothings being done,
people telling you to run,
just because it can happen?
Are you not listening?
making everyone else seem like the enemy?
you basically want to change everything,
look at nature and see,
everything is always dying.
There never seems to be a ….
then hearing things you’ve once heard,
shaking trees or ……..
though the sounds feels absurd
there is no ideas …….
a small square on both …..
making itself, if only to its viewer, into false lines
Why does smell seem to be the strongest connection to memories? Also, why does smell seem to be the strongest connection to bad memories? There is a smell in my house that’s familiar. It vaguely smells like my friends house and car. It’s not good or overly bad, it’s just different. I don’t like it. It has nothing to do with the friend, I’m just questioning why my house smells like memories.
I’ve been obsessed with memories for years. I’m now starting to lean the other way. I don’t have good or bad memories, I have good or bad smells at this point. I wish I could live in the present, but I do so little day to day right now, I need to keep myself actively busy and even then that doesn’t work all the time. When I’m doing something, I find time to think about things that happened in my past I didn’t agree with. I don’t know if writing about it is the best thing to be doing.
Similar In Time
(April 30: For the last day of national poetry month, write a poem of any style and any topic of your choice.)
I’ll spend all the time,
trying to find some way to stop time. fine.
eventually everything has a ending, repeating.
I’ll find the same way,
similar, because today changes more than just time. fine.
trying to change mine,
because it’s not the same mind as it was that time,
still not mine.
I’m fine doing the same kind of life,
writing to pass the time.
similar, because today changes more than just time. fine.
(April 29: Post an audio or video clip of a poem you wrote today of any topic of your choice)
(April 28: Mimic a famous poets writing technique)
changing old techniques,
before the days meet,
falling asleep when,
ease make no more sense,
before what shows,
understanding the end.
Twice A Day The Light Looks The Same
(April 27: Write about writer’s block)
You know there’s this point,
where everything exists,
and nothing seems to make sense,
or keep up with this existence,
and hide the boring lies.
And the worst times, where the lies replace the names,
changing the times where I woke up early.
I don’t know what lies I’m writing anymore.
ey realized….. noknownorigin
occasionally , i’f they don’t sajfkdhfnsjkdfhrjfnjcjfjeefjer
A Few More Times Around …ds.f.sd.f.df.df.fdg.sdf.sdf.dsf.sdf.dfgdfdf.
I forgot what I was doing.
Replacing Human Contact For Themselves
(April 26: Write about writing)
I found time, years ago,
where these things could fit inside,
to find some new ideas or false time.
Writing seems to find more of mine,
or some lost, until last night,
when it felt easier to write.
(April 25: Write a poem, not about your inspiration, but about why you write)
I never found time,
but it seemed to make it different,
and these things I see seem,
to change differently,
basically changing makes it feel real,
in a fiction scenario.
getting closer to nothing,
but that’s everything,
(April 24: Post a favorite poem of someone you know, explain why.)
Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine,
With all triumphant splendour on my brow;
But out, alack, he was but one hour mine,
The region cloud hath mask’d him from me now
Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;
Suns of the world may stain when heaven’s sun staineth.
(Sonnet 33 by William Shakespeare)
I don’t know anyone who writes poems, so I decides to pick one written by someone who everyone knows. This poem brings me a sense of calm. Everything goes around in circles. Things have a ride it takes itself on. That’s just how it goes.