Well, so my friends sent out a mass email challenging everyone to a big poetry reply-all contest thing. So obviously, because I am badass, I wrote this monster. Everyone else wrote little rhyming couplets about their bagels. I am superior.

"My Summer."

What did YOU do this summer?
I banged lotsa guys from other ethnic groups cos they're hotter!!!


hate rhyming poetry,"
I told her.


There is a quiet rhythm in
sneaking away from the house and
it makes me feel
sort of nostalgic like
a raw, nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach but
I just
tell myself to stop
and I do, or at least I
try to,
and, for a few moments of every stolen second,
I feel okay.


am afraid of lightening,"
I told him.
He just smiled and
pulled me closer, safe.
Later we would lie in the grass
and I would think that I need to leave him,
and I would kiss him as though it was my last time ever;
and one day I was right;
because I'm a terrible person,
it didn't hurt as much as I sort of feel like it should have.


Do you ever
do something
and get instant results
and feel like
just maybe
you're worth something?


there is no calm before the storm.
Sometimes there is only anxiety,
and then a little more
and more
and more
until you sort of feel like exploding


Well, there've been times in my life
when I sort of looked back and thought,
"Goddamn, I could have fucking died."
But there's never been a time when
I looked at someone else
and thought the same thing.
now is that time.
Is this why we hate hospitals?


Is it wrong to be
embarrassed of someone you love?


Let's just gloss over July and August, shall we?
(How much dirt is there in a hole
whose dimensions measure
2.98 feet long,
2.5 feet wide,
and 3 feet deep?
None, idiot. It's a hole.)


See, the thing about swings is
if you close your eyes
and lean back
you can feel your stomach
and it is almost like flying
and flying is almost like being free -
that's why I like to swing
until I burn holes in my palms
to match the gaping chasm in my heart
that I don't think will ever heal.
You wanted to know?
That's why.


I don't think I will ever quite comprehend
the so-called magic
that lies intertwined
on its back in the grass
with moonlight and chlorine.
Sorry; my loss.


There was something
about fireworks and asphalt
I just sort of really could have cared less about
and somehow that made me feel guilty.
Then again,
I tried to count the stars
and the number of times I've felt guilty
and I decided it was a hopeless cause
and gave up, but only just
a little.


Hey! Nice to see you again!
What's it been?
Two whole months?
Sure, no, of course I'm not fucking hurt that
you're refusing to talk to me.
By the way, I
love your new shoes.
I'm not just saying that because
I'm looking at your feet because
looking at your face would probably make me cry.
No, no, I really
I really do like your new shoes.
Don't trouble yourself over me.
(Did I even need to tell you that?)


Yes, oh yes,
desperation is the English way but
but but but but
but if
you are gone
and there is
me to
cling to
what am I supposed to
be desperate over?
Desperation implicitly implies
a need, and an extreme measure
gone to
to get the need.
But, I guess if there's nothing there
for me
to fill my need - ?
I'm just screwed.


she told me,
"I hate people helping me. But I
really don't mind you because
you do it fast
and quick
and you don't get in my way
and you're not unpleasant so early in the morning."
The cat purred against my wrist and
again, for a fleeting snatch of time,
I felt as though
I am worth something.


What if
I grow so much
that I swallow my soul
and all that's left is
an empty, listless body?


Well, hello there!
Would you like to play dirty?


Have you ever tried
to do something
for three fucking weeks,
only to do it in practice
and then not get asked to do it
at the big performance
that you'd been gearing up for
for three weeks?


I told her,
"is the best teacher."
She rolled her eyes.


So, having a contraband father
poses a few interesting questions, such as:
Jesus christ, could I be any more fucking nostalgic?
Why do I have to hurt so much?
Why doesn't anyone else hurt as much as me?
Why doesn't anyone understand why I hurt?
And, the most interesting:
Just how exactly does he think he is going to
'put my life back into balance'?


You grab me,
scare me,
hold me,
and whisper,
"My dad died."
My heart stops.
You let me go, almost scared,
but you stay close,
and I look into your perfect chocolate eyes,
and I can feel my fucking heart breaking
and I don't know what to do
and I breathe your name and an "Oh god,"
and I don't stop you from walking away from me,
and I don't know why because
I realize
that that
was quite possibly one of the hugest mistakes
of my life.
And I think I'm going to be kicking myself for
a very long time now,
"God! Why didn't I fucking stop him from walking away from me?"


He broke my heart that weekend, you know.
So, if possibly
you were sitting next to me in our bio class
and wondering
what the hell is wrong with me?
Yeah, he fucking broke my heart that weekend.
(Last weekend, incidentally, was
one of the more eventful
since roughly last October.)


I can't stand it how
everyone I love
or begin to love
or might eventually love
or just plain want to be friends with
have been slowly
ripped away from me,
dangling just above my head.


Why does his accent isolate him?
Why was I at first intimidated of his eyes?
Why can't I see him again until January?
Why does this weekend have to
break my heart not just once but


You know how guys get hotter over the summer?
I have this vague feeling that
is going to be that one class
that I live for.


Sometimes, people with OCD
feel really left out.
Isolationism isn't fun.
It's just one of those things that happens.
So it goes, goddamnit.

Poetry by MiVidaDeEpílogos.
Read 539 times
Written on 2006-08-27 at 06:28

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Well, you certainly know how to express yourself : ). Seriously, I loved it. As long as you win this thing, Im happy for you. Good Job.

~Aaron Rowe

So ignoring your occasional bursts of
angsty unreasonableness, I would say that I really like this and I understand and I am sooo glad that you (finalll) wrote again and...hm...you win plzkthx?