A haiku.
The Internet
Desperate typing
A universe that traps
me
A coma of lies.
A structured.
Outside My Window, I See Thee
Over by the park bench
Underneath the seats.
Tucked behind an iron
bar.
Sits a pair of
cleats.
It’s sunny
Dewy from yesterday’s
rain
Edged with fog
Morning’s greetings
from a midnight train.
Yearning to go
outside
Waiting to explore
In a dazed morning
trance
Wind floats through
the door.
Invisible strings
Sleeping in cold
water.
Empty thinking
Eyes that only
wander.
There you are.
Holding those cleats
by the elbow
Escaping the park.
Entering my window.
Two free verses.
A Stupid Analysis Of Myself By Myself
Smart?
Logical?
Future Law?
Ha.
Truthfully, I am just
a misconstrued mess of things yet to be put back together.
An unorganized train
wreck with eyes,
Food-consuming
computer with the wrong codes.
Ha.
A bomb waiting to
explode into a bazillion fireballs
A dictionary with the
word ‘bazillion’ under the letter ‘T.’
Lazy sunshine that
shines in the wrong places.
Ha.
A book hoarder that
hoards empty glass bottles
An enigma with a
easily solved exterior
A happy person with a
superb streak of wins and failures.
Ha.
The kind of person that
jams whatever she can think of in a sentence or two
A run-on with a
period before the end.
A mixed alphabet that
doesn’t want to be unscrambled.
I’m that kid who
hated bread as a kid and now have a unexplainable urge to go buy some.
I'm a perplexity of a person. Poo.
My Wonders of Life at Age Thirteen
When will I sleep tonight?
My Wonders of Life at Age Thirteen
How to lose something
that has already been lost.
How to value
something you don’t know has value.
How to be something
when you don’t know what to be.
How to list wonders
when you don’t really know what to wonder about.
What would it be like
to live on the moon,
What my mom would say
if she found out I broke her hair dryer,
What will happen to
the hair dryer that is now hidden beneath my bed,
What is beneath my
bed?
Now that’s a REAL
mystery.
Where my money goes
when I can’t find it,
Where my mind goes on
Saturdays,
Where did the word
“Saturday” come from?
Where is the textbook
for my math homework,
Where did the
doughnuts next to my math homework go?
Certainly not in my
stomach.
When is EXO going to
come to New York City?
When will the New
York City Department of Education stop the elongation of a school day at
Stuyvesant?
When will I get over
the fact that the absence of abs in the NYC concert when there was an abundant
display in Paris is frustrating,
When did my sentences
get so long?
When will the Senior
Trip be,
When will I stop
being so forgetful,
And a name poem.
The Name Poem (‘Cause Naming This ‘Emily’ Would Be Cliché)
Exerts much of her concentration on professional fangirling,
Mostly crazy but I’d call it genius,
Interesting if you don’t mind waiting
for it.
Lends an ear for your worst jokes
because they’re probably better than mine,
Yours to trust.
~*~
Some of these poems you might not understand. Don't worry about it.
I don't know. I just had a whole session of self-reflection and listening to rock music and the deep lyrics really got to me. The poems might not be the greatest in the universe, but they're mine. I'm going to look back and laugh at all this later, maybe. But for now, I just feel... deep. Soulful. I dunno, bro.
._.
BULLSHIT U IS FULL INSANE
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