Tennyson Was A Madman

[billy]

a poem with some context needed, usually means there isn't enough context within the poem. (i get the need for telling us it's spoken word though) at present it's a Soliloquy more than a poem. it lacks almost all poetic devices. it probably does sound good when you do the slam thing with it but so would the abc if done properly. i think it needs a lot more before it crosses over from the prose side of writing.

Just for some context: this poem is actually a spoken word I wrote about a girl I was best friends with for three and a half years. We dated for a week and then broke up.

Tennyson Was A Madman

Scratch that, I take it back. I'm not okay and, if I had to guess, I'd say that I may never be the same as I was before I gave you the power to break me and you used every bit of it

I read once that it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Well Tennyson was a madman, because if given the chance to do it again, I would never have loved you i'm struggling to see what his sanity has to do with your choice should you get a 2nd chance

Because what it boils down to is the inescapable and constant pain I deal with now. I'd rather not know what love feels like than know what it feels like not to be loved, but I know both and I gotta say, it's not really worth it. feels very very wordy, works well as prose, and probably sounds okay on the mic but in this format it needs more

And it's not so much the fact that it didn't work out, because life happens and things fall apart. The pain more stems from the the solitude in which I suffer it.

Unrequited pain is almost worse than unrequited love, and while I suffer every day, I see that you're okay and as much as I hate myself for it, I wish it would happen a different way. I wish that you felt the pain I feel or at least anything at all.

But I should be happy that you're okay, right? I should be glad that this doesn't hurt you, cause three and a half years should mean something, shouldn't it? But I find that at night, when I cry myself to sleep, three and a half years seems an awful lot like one week.

I guess I'm writing this to get over you, but I really can't tell. Maybe I'm writing to stay caught up in the moment because rhymes are cute but at the end of the day it's the raw emotion that gets me through.

And I'm having a little trouble ending this poem, not like you know much at all about having trouble ending things. And yeah, that was an immature little jab but I guess the breakdown can make us do funny things and say funny things and change our outlook on life because if ever I was a pessimist it's now.