Sinking Ships

I never truly saw myself as a blog writer...quite honestly I don't know what I really have to say that anyone would like to hear. I'm just a normal college student, with thoughts, feelings and ideas..the exact same that most people feel. However, unlike many of my peers today, when something happens to me or I feel something strongly, I write about it. When I was younger, I tended to write stories..short stories about like..cats that chase mice and then end up befriending them. But thankfully, I've grown and expanded way beyond silly little stories like those. Instead, I've become a poet. I love the way words sound when they're juxtaposed together in a certain way. And I love the feeling I get when I feel as though I've taken an idea or a feeling and expressed it in such a unique way that anyone could understand what I'm trying to say. That's why I write poetry, and this is what my blog is about- to share my poetry with you lovely readers, if I have any readers that is. Regardless, here I'll post some of my favorite pieces of poetry and give a window into the inner workings of my head.

The poem in this poet is titled 'Sinking Ships.' It was written after I realized a certain person I was close to really wasn't the person I had thought. They had told me they wanted to change but really, they weren't changing at all... It's pretty self-explanatory, I think. My poems are usually really simple and easy to understand- all they are are just my emotions pressed into words. Writing for me, has become a sort of catharsis for every sort of feeling I have, no matter good or bad, so because of that, the sort of things I write about are easy to relate to and understand.

Out late nights with friends you barely know
Back when, you would have call yourself a cheat,
and I admit, I agree.
I’m almost impressed
by your lack of self-respect,
but I’m far too busy appearing to be busy
to give you any satisfaction.
I’m working out the minute kinks now;
bending and folding will no longer
distort the signals our wires create.
But I’ve noticed you’re just one giant knot.
You’re chest is slammed shut
and mine, forever open wide.
The infinitesimal details will be analyzed
at the scene of the crime,
though you may run.
But you’re trying to be the better man.

If I was meticulous and proper,
the conversation would have materialized in my sleep.
The escape routes would have been found
and roped off or blocked.
But your false teeth gleamed
no indication of a tirade, so here we lay,
unconvinced and partially shattered.
For you, to care is to be redundant,
so you’d rather sever what you’ve kept intact.
It’s too arduous to let hope float,
while your ship is down river,
and you’re lost upstream.
You prefer to solve these types of problems quietly.
Anyone else is only a hindrance,
or maybe an eyesore for a short period,
then cast out to sea.
But you’re not trying to be the better man.

A whole eight days since and I
still haven’t been able to share how
I’ve considered you to be most interesting,
despite being less than the standard I expected
you to uphold.
It was what you always struggled to express
in your over-indulgent punctuation.
So now my coat is off, and I’ll turn slightly to face you,
get a better glimpse so I can erase
the character with your name I constructed
to make an adventure out of my dreams.
And he is now replaced with you
and all your considerable traits.
Reality should never be masked if I’ve
learned anything; it’s one helpful hint
you might take to the grave.
But you’re not trying hard enough to be the better man.