| My Conversation with Me |
I'm in that mood again today.
That mood where I'm not in a mood.
I'm not in a happy mood.
But I'm not gonna cry about it.
I'm not bored.
But I don't really care.
I have a song stuck in my head.
But I don't want it to leave.
Because, if it leaves,
I'd be left alone with me.
And I hate awkward silences.
What would I say to me?
Would I ask how I am?
No.
I'm afraid of what I will say.
Would I ask what I want to do?
No.
Again, I'm afraid.
I don't know what would happen if I was left alone with me.
Would I like me?
Or would I wish I could change me?
Would I be funny?
Or stoic and boring?
I know I wouldn't like me if I was boring.
Or would I?
Would it be a nice change?
Would I prefer myself that way?
Would other people prefer me that way?
Would I care what other people think?
I don't now.
Or do I?
Do I care what people think?
What do I think?
Do I care what I think?
I think I care what I think.
But I'm not sure.
About anything really.
I'm not sure about religion.
I'm not sure about politics.
I'm not sure about other people.
I'm not even sure about me.
Or am I?
What if I am sure about things?
What If I'm so sure abut everything that I'm not sure about anything.
Is anyone sure about anything?
Or is everyone sure about everything?
Everyone seems sure about everything.
Everyone seems sure that their religion is the only right one.
Everyone seems sure that their opinion is the only opinion that matters.
I don't seem sure about anything.
I really annoy myself sometimes.
I think I enjoy annoying me.
I enjoy annoying other people so wouldn't it make sense that I enjoy annoying me?
I enjoy all kinds of things.
I enjoy making people laugh.
I enjoy making me laugh.
But then I appear insane.
I think I like appearing insane.
I like a lot of strange things.
I like walking backwards in the rain.
I like singing to the stars and listening to what they sing back.
I like imagining what life would be like if everyone walked on their hands.
I like imaging that, deep down, people know what's truly important.
I like imaging that the world can be a better place.
I like beliving that there is good in everyone.
I like trying to help others find who they really are.
Which sounds ridiculous because I don't even know who I am.
But maybe I do.
Maybe I know exactly who I am.
Maybe I'm everything I think I am.
I think I'm funny.
I think I'm smart.
I think I'm beautiful.
I think I can make a differance in someone's life.
I think I'm laid back.
I think I'm easy to talk to.
I think I'm many things.
But I may not be who I think I am.
And even if I'm not who I think I am,
I know who I would like to be.
I would like to be the one people come to when they're hurting.
I would like to be the person who doesn't judge.
I would like to be the person who could make anyone laugh.
I would like to be wise.
I would like to be brave.
I would like to be selfless.
I would like to be strong.
I would like to be able to tell you who I am.
But, sadly, I can't.
At least, not until I can tell myself who I am.
That is the real problem, isn't it?
Will I ever know who I am?
Does anyone ever know who they are?
Is the answer hidden in countless hours of thought?
Or is it right in front of our noses?
So plain and obvious that it is impossible to see?
If everyone in the world knew who they were though,
I don't think the world would be as fun a place.
There would be no more people changing their hair color every month.
Fashions wouldn't change.
T.V. shows wouldn't change.
Ideas would cease to exist and life would lose its flair,
And people would be stuck in a routine that never changes.
Because there would be no need for change.
People would know who they are and what they like and no one would ever try new things.
Unless, that is who they are.
I guess, in a way, I like not knowing who I am.
It keeps the spontinaity in life.
I don't know who I am or what I do and don't like,
And so I have permission from the Universe to keep trying new things.
So keep your eyes open wherever you go,
Whether it be the cheesy 70s roller disco,
or even a goldfish farm.
Because I may be there.
And why not?
I'm still getting to know me. |
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| Today is the Day |
I've often been told,
"Today is the day."
Today is what day?
Today is the ninth day of the first month of the 2007th year.
Today is the day I woke up tired.
Today is the day I had to take a cold shower,
Because today is the day there was no more hot water.
Today is the day I'm late for class,
Because today is the day my locker decided it didn't like its combination.
Today is the day.
What does that mean?
Today is the day.
Today is a day.
Today is Tuesday.
But is today the day>
Today is the day.
Today is the day for what?
Is today the day I fall in love?
Is today the day my classes fly by?
Is today the day that I die?
Or possibly the day I discover life?
I don't know what today is.
No one does.
But in the long run,
Why does it matter...
When tomorrow is much more exciting. |
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| To Whom It May Concern |
To Whom It May Concern,
The second hand ticks.
The pens scratch the paper.
The teacher's speech is like the background music to a bad movie.
I look up now and pretend that I'm listening,
To make her think that what I'm writing is notes.
She can't see my paper, so she doesn't know,
That what I'm writing is a letter to you.
My letter to you.
My letter that I wrote in Chem class.
While my teacher thought I was taking notes.
I'm not taking notes.
Uncertainty in numbers has no meaning to me.
Actually, it has no meaning to anyone.
Therefore notes about it will not waste my paper.
My paper is meant to hold words of emotion.
Not words of estimation and significant digits.
I want my paper to mean something.
Anything.
To somebody.
Anybody.
The bell just rang.
I still have 45 minutes left of Chemistry.
45 minutes for my paper to mean something to you.
But how?
I could leave words of wisdom like ---
'It's better to ask forgiveness than permission',
Or---
'If you're not the lead dog, the view never changes.'
But that means nothing to me.
So how could it mean something to you?
I could say somehting funny like---
'Eagles may soar, but weasels never get caught in jet engines.'
But it may sound pathetic or like I'm trying too hard to be cute.
But I'm not.
The truth is, I don't know what to say to spark an inspiration in you.
My letter has failed.
My letter to you.
Someday I might try again,
But for now I'll just wait and watch,
Until something that might move you, moves me.
Until we meet again,
Your poet.Labels: To Whom It May Concern |
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| Love is... |
This is a poem I wrote for my Grandmother's 80th Birthday. I could use some feedback.
Love is the feeling of rain on your cheek.
Love is the sigh at the end of the week.
Love is the warmth of your favorite quilt.
Love is not crying over milk that is spilt.
Love is knowing that you are at home.
Love is never feeling alone.
Love is the breeze on the first day of fall.
Love is the memories we can recall.
Love is the night and love is the day.
Love is a child running to play.
Love is the moon and love is the stars.
Love is knowing that this life is ours.
Love is what we celebrate now.
So, Memom stand up and give us a bow.
Because you are the real meaning of love.
A love that this world needs so much more of.
There aren’t enough words to describe how we feel,
Knowing there is no love more real,
Than the love of a mother, grandmother, and friend,
Who’ll stay by your side, right to the end.
Yes today is your day and we honor with glee,
A woman who gave us her love, all for free. |
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| Rain |
I love the rain.
The way it falls all over the place but always manages to end up in puddles.
I love the rain.
The way it can be cold while still making you feel warm.
I love the rain.
The way it feels as it runs down my face the way I run for cover when I feel it on my cheek.
I feel it on my cheek.
I feel it.
I feel the rain.
I haven’t felt the rain for a long time.
It’s like waking up from a nightmare to find that the world you are in now is better than you could have ever imagined.
I feel the rain.
I feel the rain.
It repeats in my mind like a mantra.
I feel the rain.
I feel the rain.
I feel.
I feel.
It doesn’t seem possible.
I feel.
I stand in the rain, feeling the water seep through my clothes.
I stand in the rain, feeling the water.
I stand in the rain, feeling.
I stand, feeling.
Feeling.
Now, I can’t feel the rain.
The cold has made me numb on the outside.
But on the inside, I feel the rain.
I feel the rain.
I feel the rain.
I can’t forget the feeling of rain on my skin.
I can’t forget the feeling.
I can’t forget.
I can’t forget.
I can’t forget the rain. |
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posted by shanfan5690 at 
