Poetry

I think in the deepest, darkest, little spot in the core of both my heart and soul I am a poet. I can spend hours pouring over the work of Plath and Eliot, trying not to cry from the truth and beauty hidden in all those little stanzas and words. I simply cannot shut up in Poetry class, and I walk around afterward, lost in a haze of meter and rhyme. Sometimes little quips hop into my head and stay there, so I pace about repeating them aloud, seeing how I can tweak them (for an example, see this entry). I understand that, while I can be a poet, I cannot make my life as a poet. This is disheartening. Sure, I can teach English, which would include some poetry, or I could just forget my lofty little dream and move on to advertising or law and make lots of money, which I might do from necessity and drive. I’m still not even sure what I am majoring in…

What I do know is that this blog is mine, just as this passion is mine, and I have decided to combine them thusly. And so, from now on, every now and then, I will be posting some of my poetry. You don’t have to read it, you don’t have to tell me it is awesome or terrible, or anything like that. I just want to express what is inside me while I still have an outlet to do so.

So, to start, here is Scattered.

He lives a life of questions with no answers,
ideas bigger than this narrow little house,
with stairs that curse like they might do you in.
His thoughts are reflective,
fireworks across the night sky of his mind
equations I could never comprehend.
Sometimes he talks.
I listen with my mind a little in the trees,
I wish there was more I could say
My thoughts are scattered across the floor.