Sometimes poetry is the only thing that can make me full.






she showed me that.

Sometimes you just have to write bad poetry

She said one day all we'd have left is a trailer, and a dog, and a sestina.


but who thought i'd be there at 24,
and it's an apartment in the city,
and a cat, not a dog,
and free-verse, not a sestina,
but you get me.

and she said we'd have paper and pen
and i'm writing on my computer,
because this is now, and i'm me,
not one to write my poetry
on paper, but still.

she was right. i'd write.

though i never thought
i'd write about not writing,
then again,
i never thought i'd be 24
and lacking a good line
or a perfectly placed rhyme.

or be as corny as this,
(well those last two lines, with the rhyme)
but here i am.

i've got nothing.
i've lost passion to predictability,
creativity to caution,
motivation to money.

i've lost me to you,
but that's a lie.
there's no you,
just a me, wishing there was a you.

but that's a lie again.
sometimes, i just get lonely,
and think a you, would make me,
less so. you know?

but anyway,
i'm here, in this now,
without a trailer, or a dog,
or a damn sestina,
so she was wrong,


but still right.