a week has nearly passed us by...
and here i sit; i ask you why?
why indeed must i so feel
i must go to the gym to peel
the layers off; what layers, hey?
i'd rather just enjoy my stay.
i want to be the best; you know,
life is just one big long show
of who did what and how with who:
i don't give a flying fuck, do you?
the only thing i really want
is to be truly happy, not
most famous, not the most exciting.
all of this is rather frightening.
more and more i've come to learn
sometimes i'd love to watch it burn.
i'll go home and i'll eat dinner;
she'll tell me that i'm a winner,
then i'll know it's all ok,
i've got her, i know she'll stay.
what is it that i'm holding on to?
on the bottom of my shoe
there is an ideal of myself;
i'll have to put it on the shelf
and slowly watch it gather dust
or wither, rot, and then grow rust.
but in it's place i will have found
a different plot of fresh, new ground
for planting things and brand new passions;
bowling, horses, singing, fashions...
where is my identity?
how do i know that it is me?
this is the question i now ask,
(i need a jack-and-coke filled flask)
it's 5:00, it's time to go,
i hope you've all enjoyed the show.
to the gym i now must fly,
i don't care, don't ask me why
we started here, and here we'll end.
thanks for lending your ear, friend.
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9 comments:
this one is so different and real that we are hesitant to comment.
do i scare you? i scare myself sometimes. i don't know where this one came from. i was bored.
do i scare you? i scare myself sometimes. i don't know where this one came from. i was pored. poop.
refreshing, not scary
Actually, I was scared. Please warn me before you come and visit, ok? I want to make sure I have time to run to the ABC store.
i must say that i am disappointed with the calibur of the comments posted for this poem (my own included; however i tried to erase mine and i couldn't figure out how. i only succeeded in posting it twice. lame with a capital L, i know.) i assumed that an awesome, thought provoking poem such as this would merit intriguing and in-depth comments, but apparently i was wrong. i have yet to decide whether or not i will write another "real" poem, or continue with the silly, mindless poems about farts and tards (driver, i know you're laughing now). i am inclined to believe that my poems are not taken seriously, and that all my followers are content with stories of office chairs and boogers. if this is the case, i suppose i can accept it. not everyone shares the immense brain and heart capacity that i do. and really, what could be more interesting than a rainbow-colored poem? well, i thought that this poem was, but maybe not. i await your replies...
By scared I really meant "in awe of your poetic adeptness and excellent command of language." And naturally I meant we should go to the ABC store to procure sophisticated libations with which we would applaud your emotional verse.
I must concur with the donut. I say nay to booger, tards and farts. Bring the meat and flesh of your soul to the banquet and we shall feast.
you guys are funny. thanks for suffering my moods.
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