One of the hazards of writing poetry is that people get a false impression of your personality based solely on your work. I don't want people to think that I'm always depressed because I write sad poetry. Writing poetry is something you do when you feel inspired by emotion to write. It's not something that you do all the time, in all seasons and in all moods. Those times that I'm happy (and there are plenty of those) I just don't find myself writing poetry.
Some people find inspiration in happy events. They want to express their happiness to others. I find inspiration in sadness. For me, writing poetry is sort of an exorcism of all the negative emotions. I transfer the bad feelings from my mind to the page.
It also does me some good to know that others are reading my writings and, in a sense, sharing in my sorrow.
Also, if it's been a while since I've written anything, you can know that it's probably because things have been going well for me. :)
at 02/09/09 1:27PM
The other day I saw us all one night at Taco Bell
It's been a while but I've preserved the memories quite well
Do you recall the night we snapped our pictures 'round the school?
To think that things would never change, I must have been a fool
I've heard it said, and hold it true, that ignorance is bliss
I never understood till now, since it has come to this
If only I could have the chance, I'd happily exchange
Some worthless memories to lose, and everything to gain
She made such an amazing offer; how could I resist it?
If there was any fine print then I guess I must have missed it
People are too nice. Or maybe just ignorant.
Well, someone says to me, "You're gonna go far."
And I do think highly of myself. I do.
Sometimes it's hard not to think too highly of myself, but I try to stay humble.
But I have to acquiesce, well, I'm at least going where I want to right now.
And if someone were awed by me,
Well, why would anyone?
But if they were, I'd say, it's no big deal. It's not as hard as you think.
I'm just me, and I happen to like what I do. I'm no one special.
So, good future, probably.
Achieve my dreams? Maybe.
It's when they stick on that bit about a good wife that it gets me.
You think I'll find love? Show me where it's written that everyone finds someone who loves them. Show me where it's written that anyone necessarily gets anything they want.
Look, if you're going on speculations, at least be sure there's some basis for your opinions. If you're going to talk, try to keep your talk at least somewhat attached to some reality.
Maybe I'm bitter. Well, I'd rather be bitter and grounded in reality than delusional. But I don't think I am. Maybe I just have things to deal with that some people don't know about.
at 08/20/08 9:22PM
It's waking up an hour too soon
It's messing up your afternoon
It's nine to five, or ten to two
Or five to who knows when you're through
It's paying bills, it's making calls
It's all day with your girl at malls
It's unexpected ER visits
(The waiting time's the worst thing, isn't it?)
Class and work and jobs and chores
And when you think you're done, there's more
And if you get it all in hand
Something pops up to kill your plans
But when you've no more drive to spend
The day, thankfully, meets its end
Give no more thought to all that mess
You've finally earned your bit of rest
at 05/08/08 11:17PM
Let me say one thing right up front
I want to make sure that I'm clear
I honestly appreciate
I mean, I think it's really great
That you enjoy my poetry
And all the stuff I'm put on here
And what you've said, especially
The compliments and all the praise
Though I don't think it's all deserved
I'm thankful for it, sincerely
Let that be plainly understood
That being said, don't take offense
Or spam my blog with rude comments
When I tell you that, honestly
I don't think I can claim to be
(And here I'll stick another line
Or maybe two, or maybe more
To keep the rhythm going smooth
A crucial part of poetry)
That talented at writing verse
That is to say, my poetry
I don't think that it's very good
In fact, I'd even say, I think
My poems, well, they kind of stink
by pleopoet