I am going to post my poems
In light of yesterday's entry, I wrote something. I don't know how I feel about it. It doesn't feel finished, but I don't really have control over my writing. It just happens. And so, I was writing and it just stopped, and I had no more for it. I think I may be able to revisit it later and pull it all together with a final stanza.
I was also trying to change up my normal writing style on this, because I feel like all my poems have the same general format. Or maybe I'm just making that up. I dunno, but this ended up a little different, while also being mostly the same. Its really just more simple than I usually write. Thats what it is - it is me in style but more simple in content, but still rather cryptic. I dunno, putting it on here makes me really self concsious even though I don't know if anyone will read it. So anyway, I'm just stalling, I think.
This, too,
speckled, pink, porous
glassy
I wanted to know
everything you were
the bits of you
a little here
and a little there
you’re a book whose pages are stuck together.
A sunrise never seems as nice
as the sunset
but meeting the sunrise
from the dark
is always better
than meeting the sunset
from the light.
Little lies you told
you told me were just the way
you knew you were smarter.
Little lies you told
gave me the window into you.
When I was little,
I knelt beside the little river.
I made mud pies,
I took twigs and poked them
into the pebbles
and watched the wake of the current
against the bark,
and would stick my little finger
into the hole where the water would be,
if not for the twig.
I was also trying to change up my normal writing style on this, because I feel like all my poems have the same general format. Or maybe I'm just making that up. I dunno, but this ended up a little different, while also being mostly the same. Its really just more simple than I usually write. Thats what it is - it is me in style but more simple in content, but still rather cryptic. I dunno, putting it on here makes me really self concsious even though I don't know if anyone will read it. So anyway, I'm just stalling, I think.
This, too,
speckled, pink, porous
glassy
I wanted to know
everything you were
the bits of you
a little here
and a little there
you’re a book whose pages are stuck together.
A sunrise never seems as nice
as the sunset
but meeting the sunrise
from the dark
is always better
than meeting the sunset
from the light.
Little lies you told
you told me were just the way
you knew you were smarter.
Little lies you told
gave me the window into you.
When I was little,
I knelt beside the little river.
I made mud pies,
I took twigs and poked them
into the pebbles
and watched the wake of the current
against the bark,
and would stick my little finger
into the hole where the water would be,
if not for the twig.