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i've wanted to be something greater for so long
i still want something to happen
and every day i hope
and reach a bit further
and it seems like the longer i stretch the colder my fingertips get
i just want to come home and see something there
something new and promising
someone real and crazy enough to grab my hand
pull me from this funk
yank me off the chair
i want these words to rhyme
but part of me things that would make it worthless
false and narrow, unnecessarily
ending things in rhyme vicariously
each couplet in a similar time
kissing the neighboring rhyme
it's too easy to be real
it's too fake to be understood
these things i think i feel
written badly but they feel so good
poetry doesn't rhyme anymore
to do such things would make me a whore
i've witnessed such beauty and emotion within
something so deep the words seem to sin
they touch like flesh and yield to the pressure i place
like my fingers dragging gently over the left part of her face
so maybe if i take each line and elongate the idea just so much
i could feel something other than pity for how wearily I long for her touch
and i don't even know her
i think she exists
lost among millions
that are lost inside billions of cognitive lives
which think they think the thoughts they possess
or maybe they do and i'm just a mess
i guess
what would make it good
what would make it sell
does thinking this way mean i'm going to hell?
what makes it good?
because other's say
they would buy it if they came across it someday?
should i keep it arty by mixing the scheme
making obvious rhymes
and just fucking with their thoughts
do i have the clout
beyond shadows of uncertainty
that these ideas would not be lost
and would be worth the effort?
or is it just half my mind
screaming bloody doubt
and unpayable costs?
at least i believe that the sound makes the difference
speaking where the words cannot
and the words are there
to clarify what the noise might have not remembered to place into the realm of the obvious
or further cloud the ideas i might have forgot.
so ends the poetry. oh yesitry. but yeah, i still wish i wasn't always thinking about everything all the time
it would make reading easier
also, i wish my legs didn't shake
and my hair grew slower
and i mostly hope that i can meet someone who is smart enough to find the hidden meanings behind what i just said
that's what i want, someone smarter than me. I think that makes sense. i'm going to add that to the list. and what a long list it is...
i still want something to happen
and every day i hope
and reach a bit further
and it seems like the longer i stretch the colder my fingertips get
i just want to come home and see something there
something new and promising
someone real and crazy enough to grab my hand
pull me from this funk
yank me off the chair
i want these words to rhyme
but part of me things that would make it worthless
false and narrow, unnecessarily
ending things in rhyme vicariously
each couplet in a similar time
kissing the neighboring rhyme
it's too easy to be real
it's too fake to be understood
these things i think i feel
written badly but they feel so good
poetry doesn't rhyme anymore
to do such things would make me a whore
i've witnessed such beauty and emotion within
something so deep the words seem to sin
they touch like flesh and yield to the pressure i place
like my fingers dragging gently over the left part of her face
so maybe if i take each line and elongate the idea just so much
i could feel something other than pity for how wearily I long for her touch
and i don't even know her
i think she exists
lost among millions
that are lost inside billions of cognitive lives
which think they think the thoughts they possess
or maybe they do and i'm just a mess
i guess
what would make it good
what would make it sell
does thinking this way mean i'm going to hell?
what makes it good?
because other's say
they would buy it if they came across it someday?
should i keep it arty by mixing the scheme
making obvious rhymes
and just fucking with their thoughts
do i have the clout
beyond shadows of uncertainty
that these ideas would not be lost
and would be worth the effort?
or is it just half my mind
screaming bloody doubt
and unpayable costs?
at least i believe that the sound makes the difference
speaking where the words cannot
and the words are there
to clarify what the noise might have not remembered to place into the realm of the obvious
or further cloud the ideas i might have forgot.
so ends the poetry. oh yesitry. but yeah, i still wish i wasn't always thinking about everything all the time
it would make reading easier
also, i wish my legs didn't shake
and my hair grew slower
and i mostly hope that i can meet someone who is smart enough to find the hidden meanings behind what i just said
that's what i want, someone smarter than me. I think that makes sense. i'm going to add that to the list. and what a long list it is...