Blech
March 20, 2005 @ 10:20 a.m.

Proof that I shouldn't even TRY to write poetry at one in the morning.

All of this is from yesterday, though I suppose that was this morning... screw it, I don't care.

----

What were you saying the other day?
I couldn't hear you.
One day I'm going to have to find
A reason to believe you.
You're just so convincing
But I just can't give in
What are we doing here?

One more day, locked in paradise
With no sunscreen
Burning like toast, unattended
Like Barbies in a dollhouse.
Too tall, hitting our heads
On the ceiling.

Catch me, I'm falling
Off of the moon
It was the only thing I could reach
And it's not even a star.
We've gotten so far.
In the spectrum, though
It's nothing at all.

Know what? I miss you
I can't wait to kiss you
Dancing around what we don't want to say
Maybe it will be okay
For one more day
Then I'll hear what you have to say
And maybe believe you.

I don't want to know why we are here.

----

Eighteen pages left.
How'd I fill the other hundred eight-two?
Thoughts of you.
Predictable, isn't it.
Yes, I think so.
Can never tire
Of overanalyzing you
and all that you tell me.

Please, excuse me,
If I seem a little lost.
That's just the cost
Of living in a senseless nation
Afraid to defy
What others like to call mainstream.

No, really
The other pages did mention you
But sometimes I talked about the future
And just life in general
And then bit my lip as my cousin paged through
Looking for me mentioning you
Because he thinks I'm funny.
Aww, funny little cousin.
Shut the hell up and let me write in peace
So maybe the last eighteen pages
Can be filled with only my own thoughts
Maybe of you
Or maybe not.

----

As you tell the rest of them
About your changed self
I snort into my soda.
I can't help it.
I've seen you change before
And somehow, the next morning,
You're always the same.
And yet you still manage to move
The same old fools
With the same old changes
You never really make.

----

I'm peeling my heart
Off of my window because
That's where it landed

----

Sometimes, when I'm this tired
I let my mind wander to the most absurd thoughts
Like what it would be like
Living in a city made of cardboard.
It would suck when it rains.
But I'm sure someone would go ahead and invent
A new kind of cardboard
That's water-resistant.
And maybe it'll do your laundry while it's at it.
It's just that cool.
Unlike me, thinking about living
In a city made of cardboard.
I need some sleep.

----

Sometimes I'm allowed to stay up after midnight.
When I am, I always do
Even if my eyes are burning
And my head is screaming for sleep.
Eager to push it for all it's worth.
And sometimes I worry
Because what if this habit carries onto other things?
Like driving.
What if I'm never home?
Or drinking.
What if I lose control?
What if I tried to change?
But no, I stayed up anyway.

----

-Adrienne

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