I
01/09/2004 06:49 a.m.
I don't know if you've noticed or not.. but I haven't written a poem in a long time.
I guess I should come to terms with it here.. as if any place... but this might get you an understanding..

I used to pump out poems.. pages a time... and now.. I look back on them.. and I see shit. I've worked on so much poetry and now.. looking back..it seems wasted.. I could spend a lifetime reworking them.. crafting them into songs.. or just distill them down to rubbish... but I am truly at a loss now.. I've lost a ton of work that I did as a kid, but that's all bullshit to me now.. I can't even stand reading the new stuff, much less something I wrote when I was 13 and loopy.
Honestly.. I don't think many people read my poetry.. Which is fine with me.. I've been questioning my motives for posting my poetry lately.. I don't think it's good enough... I see writers everyday that blow me out of the water with their descriptions.. Me? I'm just some drugged out looser trying to pose like I can write, right? Maybe I'm just being hard.. but fuck it, it's the truth.

Someone once wished that they could see all the money they spent... I'd wish to see all the drugs I did. Just so it would show me exactly how much it takes to kill the pain.
How much life do you have to waste before you realize that no one wants to hear some crack head with a keyboard and an internet connection.. LoL.. fuck.. maybe I'm just a lamb for the slaughter.. lord knows I've spent a good deal of time with people laughing behind my back already.
Hell.. I never said I was a people person...even though I am... but I guess that's me.. Conflicted. I love myself, and yet I hate my life. I love the world, yet I hate this environment. I love history, but I fucken hate the present.

I'm a rebel with a pause.

Not to mention an addiction, a broken heart, not enough time, broke, on running joke of a life with no wife, a dog that drools, laughed at by the fools, Kicked around on the ground, fuck it, it's my existence so I'd suggest distance since I destroy every girl and boy I touch even though I love them so much... These mixed emotions with the tears of the oceans jumbled in my brain, I think I'm insane...I know too much, think too much, drink too much... I dream, I live, I breathe and yet I want to leave. I'm tired of these games with the people and their names, I'm tired of the next set of bills to come in from the paper mills..
I'm tired of the clutter of everyday existence with circumstance as we do that graceful dance through 5 o’clock rush hour traffic. It all just makes me sick.

This isn't living.. This is poetry in motion. We’re tragic and beautiful in our sadness.. These are the moments that matter most.. those moments that tangent in and out of your dreams.. these vicious cycles of romance and circumstance as you ask her to dance and maybe get a chance for a ring and a white picket fence... or maybe you'll keep you're distance...

Live or die, I can't lie.. It's a truth, it's a lie, we're all going to die. I wish I knew.. maybe you do.. I know I don't.. but I can't, so I won't. I say love it.. You might say shove it. It's a place, you're face.. this land of opportunity, a small community, a world inside a world, in each boy and girl.. a ways to a means, if you know what that means.. dreams.. individual dreams.. these souls out fo control.. these lies we utter admist the confusion and the clutter..

I had all the answers once... but that’s when I didn’t understand the questions.

I'd rather write like that.. Inspired by the moment.. not planned in a hundred hour thinktank... but then again.. is it good enough.. that is the question? I see a million holes already...
I am currently Alienated
I am listening to the snow falling...