During my time spent on this blog, I will displaying some poems; hoping to get some readers reactions. Lately I have been writing to become more creative with my language and word play. I’ve kind of stopped expressing my sappy emotions and just started to show the reader how I feel. Like I said, this poem will be one of many that I will be posted. I hope you all don’t hate it.
I should have never let myself go there;
back to the dirty, muddy dump. Hopeless and stupid because I was
the fool. The fool, the maroon—
selfless victim of your desires,
at least I thought they were yours.
Down there, way, way down,
in the hole, here, in the ground
is where I, curled up in a ball,
waited for the seconds, minutes, hours to go by,
in case you changed your mind.
When I go there, I carry one person
I don’t understand, the person you never thought you
would, could, or had the capability of being.
It’s you. You that, that thing, who yearns for
closeness and ideals about commitment
with another— who is willing to share
those same feelings. You noticed.
Noticed me and my wit.
Held on to any bit of hope or interest I had
about starting over again. Even was willing to give—
to someone as nice and warm as you.
Just like the gold tinted red leaves loosely
hanging on to the oak tree—your harsh autumn words shook them down.
Unearthing mistakes of my past, I find broken pieces
of artifacts and bones that look like me; once with you,
never once was I not happy. My lovely bones thought—
they found a resting place in your arms.
Something so rare to find would normally be—
displayed in a museum, just as a dug up Apatosaurus would.
Instead, you kept those fossils to yourself—buried and hidden from
ever seeing the light of day.
It would have been so beautiful out on a first day of autumn like today.
Maybe another time— maybe another season
or two, but the hole
will always remain.