PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It seems like no matter how many mistakes you make

they will always think you’re perfect.

They will bend and break and do anything to see you happy.

The world is at your feet and it is yours for the taking.

I can’t say the things I want to without sounding jealous

but if I acted the way you do

I wouldn’t get anything in return

and yet you get everything that you want.

Everyone wants to make it up to you

even though you don’t deserve a second look.

Everyone wants to give you the best

when you can’t be bothered to give anything, even your worst.

I don’t think you realize how good you have it.

People shouldn’t go out of their way to help you

when you only take and give nothing in return.

Why do the ungrateful always end up with the most?

It seems like no matter how many mistakes you make

they will always think you’re perfect.

I’m stuck trying to fit into this cookie cutter mold

that they have given to me.

I have to be perfect, I can never make mistakes

and I am still not good enough.

I can never stray from this path that has been laid for me

while you can do whatever you feel like.

You’re far from perfect you always make mistakes

and in their eyes you’re a shining star.

I can never be what they want me to be

no matter how much I bleed.

I’m still trying to do everything right

I follow the rules and don’t think twice about it.

You break the rules and do everything wrong

and they still choose you.

Why you?

Why not me?
Maybe if I acted like you they’d love me.

Maybe I should be ungrateful.

I think that just beyond the deepest point

Our souls can reach, 

There lies the place where 

Our children wait to incarnate,

And in the darkness, 

Actuated through voluminous walls of air,

Gravity sucks them into it's vacuum,

They enter into slimy saturation, 

And flesh and bone begins 

To imbue their being.

They permeate this budding existence 

Without defense, or knowledge,

Propelled by the force they left, 

Where they circled in space,

For thousands of Earth years.

Now a human, living love essence,

Bound to slice the charred debris

Of our sometimes too well thought out plans,

A step ahead of us they plow their way

To mold us, sometimes scold us, 

Scar and control us.

As they journey to become born, 

While seeds of this innate knowing

Burrow deep within their subconscious,

Our eyes, gazing upon the miracle of birth itself,

Project us into blissful delight at their presence,

Comforting us as we spar with the hand of mortality,

Reminding us in our deepest repression,

The space from which we came,

Taunting our moment of utter euphoria,

A subtle elusive gnawing query, 

Starved, by and through our own ignorance 

And trepidation of who we are.

So our retort to this vexatious notion 

Becomes an obsessive adoration 

Of these fleshy creations which do not even belong to us,

They are the squires of our purpose,

Like projectile bits of sawdust and splintered wood

From a carpenter's saw,

Remnants of the artisan's aspirations,

And humanity's desperation to fullfill the promise of 

A life well lived.

I used to love to watch my grandfather in his basement,

Carving fine artistry from rough edged pieces of wood,

As I rocked in the small rocking chair he made for myself,

My siblings and cousins, each taking our turns,

At the artisan's throne.

1:47 AM 6/25/2013 © 

...

'Can too.'

'Can not.'

'Can too.'

'Can not. It isn't even real.'

'Is too.'

'Is not.'

'Is too.'

'Is not.'

'IS TOO!'

'It is not. Now stop being silly.'

'I'm not silly.'

'Are too.'

'Am not.'

'Are too.'

'Am too.'

'You're getting too old for me.'

'giggle.'

10:27 PM 5/4/2013

Baby blue eyes and curly hair,

wild and crazy, like a lil' bear.

Chubby cheeks and only 3 feet tall,

playing with him, oh, its ball!

Even thought he is only 2 years old,

he is very brave and bold.

He is adorable and as cute as can be,

this little boy's name is Coby!

I’ve heard other sister,
Ones that are horrible,
Who seem to hate one another.

I’ve always thought,
That my sister and I,
Would never be like that.

But we fight,
And try to get back at one another,
Does that make us like those other sisters?

There are some sisters
I’ve seen,
Who seem to never get mad with one another.

That’s how I want to be
With my own little sister,
That seems like the perfect relationship.

I thought that we,
My sister and I,
Could get there some day.

But now I don’t know,
Because my sister has told me,
“I hate you!”

Now, this wasn’t in a goofy way.
This was said in a matter of fact way.
She’s not telling a lie.

I never thought,
In my darkest hours,
That I would hear my sister say this.

My heart is heavy,
My eyes are puffy,
I don’t know what to do.