It’s hard for me to figure out what I want to do with my life because
I want to participate in normality
And that tends to encompass the majority of things
I don’t want to fight for:
Grades and jobs that entail
Bending over backwards to show people my worth.
I don’t want to be under-worked and underpaid and underestimated because of my age.
I want to be respected as a human, with ideas.
That seems like decades from now, possibly.
But what ridiculous thing can I do if I choose to run against the system?
It all amounts to shame.
What if I don’t want to solve the world’s problems?
What if I just want to be, because everything is essentially meaningless anyway,
Except for the joy of people, and even that’s temporary to their existence.
Saving the world is such a reckless idea.
Who said the world needs to be saved?
What said it can be? Continue reading Non-Poetic Rant from the Armchair: “Not Saving the World”
Why do I always leave in a hurry?
Why can I never slow down?
Why do I go places to say I’ve been there?
Why don’t I look around?
Sometimes I think it’s about personality,
It would be a shame to change.
But if I’m different and I’ll be happy,
What makes me stay the same?
“Relax” says the graffiti outside the train,
“Relax” says the constant rain.
But how can I listen when life seems to go so fast?
One moment I’m here,
Next on another continent,
And I hardly felt the change.
One moment certain people matter,
Next I forgot their name.
I guess once again I’m in this ridiculous dilemma,
Trying to avoid the changing tides of life,
Looking for a constant,
Deluded into its existence,
Never stopping to see the real light.
Everything has changed.
I avoid stopping so I don’t have to understand it.
A year of hills and touchy pain,
Spiraling up and down
Through heartbreak, freedom and depression,
To life, and suddenly requiring my heart again,
After it’s tumbled in the washing machine for a short time,
Might be the right expression.
I can’t stop, nor want I to go back or forward.
All intimidate me.
The present innocent and content,
The future that I must define,
The past I never want again.
I need time to think,
Room to breathe,
To figure out what’s really been going on.
This new life, of constant learning, of always being,
Contrasts brightly to the hours spent
Hating having to stay at home.
And who have I become with these new people?
I feel softer, but more equal.
And where has my electronic music gone?
Like my poems, out the big wall-window,
In the rain, trampled by the bicycles.
Just like my liking for being alone.
And yet with all that,
Of being completely lost or completely new,
Although both might be the same,
For once in my life I can say one thing,
I feel no more need for change.
Someone once told me
To make sure I feel my pain,
Emotions are a spectrum,
Not a fire to be tamed.
And now here I was again,
Playing it safe.
Mediocre love for mediocre pain.
But the truth cannot hide
Behind the practicality of my brain.
The hopeless romantic, the girl on fire,
The poet smiling at the rain,
They cannot be contained.
Even if in light of pain,
And seemingly hopeless wandering and days so same,
A bolder life, a wilder love,
None can deny,
The vision’s a gift from above.
I am finally home.
So what if words can’t capture
My candle dancing,
The flutter of eyelids,
The bear paw of perfectly warm tea.
Even in the moment of fading friendships,
Of shattered world views,
Of being lost and often insecure,
This room feels like hope.
More than four walls of white paint,
It is the mere possession of it
That indicates a life so far well spent.
The little touches of art,
The colors, the plants,
The notes that I have saved,
They are the makers of a “me.”
And although I deny
The existence of a static personality,
Or well defined traits,
There is something extremely comforting
In looking at something
And being able to point to it and say –
And perhaps even if this is not all of me,
It is alright because
just like words are not full feelings,
So are these objects and this room,
Puzzle pieces of a life in progress
Of a creature whose uniqueness is written in these fine details.
Home is the place where you can read about yourself.
I’m made these walls mine,
Now they’re here to remind me of who I am,
And when in doubt, to find myself again.
I really am in a movie:
My flowery dress, my wild hair,
The leather journal in my hands,
A different look upon my face.
On a hidden bench by a large bush
I look on to life around me
And my heart calms to an almost undetectable speed.
The birds behind me keep going on
Like the group of school children who jump loudly
And skip on to their teacher.
Splotches of sunlight, here and there.
A woman on a bike passes
And looks at me weirdly
As if she’s never seen a girl with a notebook before.
Perhaps she never has.
The world should be ashamed.
At least the couple that sits by me doesn’t seem to notice.
They understand better,
My romantic painted world against theirs.
Like them, I don’t want to leave.
Like them, I’m going to have to,
To go on with my life.
Sunlight hits one more time,
And the garden becomes ten shades greener.
I hear a mother whispering to her child.
Then, even in this paradise,
I think of someone.
The magic’s lost.
It’s time to leave.
Last time, I began my journey into the lands of poetry books. Since then, I explored a number of anthologies, before deciding to buy two of my own, which I could mark up at will. From my many recent encounters with captivating poetry, here are five that definitely stuck out to me.
“Summer Storm” By Dana Gioia
We stood on the rented patio
While the party went on inside.
You knew the groom from college.
I was a friend of the bride.
Continue reading 5 [More] Poems That I Like, of Inequality, Inspiration, Flings, & Lives