07-25-2014, 09:23 AM
*Currently has no title, so if one comes to you please let me know. This was originally written in an uninspired slump and once the ball started rolling, well, this happened. All criticism is welcome!
I’m somewhere caught between inspiration
and crumpling up every idea I have.
I am slicing pizza at work
for a round man wearing a Van Halen tank top,
thinking about writing this poem,
ignoring the sweat on my forehead.
I live my life as if it were an allegory
for something far more romantic.
There’s this girl I’ve exhausted with metaphors
and enjambed to the edge of a cliff
yet no lofty ode could satisfy what I wish to express
about the poison and the cure provided by her eyes.
Observing sad people in bland settings
does not push me to create like it should,
but causes me to feel disgust at my lack of seasoning,
my lack of internal material.
At the brink of a new best idea,
I default to the winds and hide in my head
like a hermit with the secret desire to know
every corner of this confounding world.
I’m somewhere caught between inspiration
and crumpling up every idea I have.
I am slicing pizza at work
for a round man wearing a Van Halen tank top,
thinking about writing this poem,
ignoring the sweat on my forehead.
I live my life as if it were an allegory
for something far more romantic.
There’s this girl I’ve exhausted with metaphors
and enjambed to the edge of a cliff
yet no lofty ode could satisfy what I wish to express
about the poison and the cure provided by her eyes.
Observing sad people in bland settings
does not push me to create like it should,
but causes me to feel disgust at my lack of seasoning,
my lack of internal material.
At the brink of a new best idea,
I default to the winds and hide in my head
like a hermit with the secret desire to know
every corner of this confounding world.