From time to time, I will go digging through stacks of paper and my old poetry will pop out. I figured I'd just put them on here. I've been writing poetry since I was about 8, I think, well, that's when I won my first contest. I have the hardest time getting my stuff published. My work is kind of sexual, maybe that's why? I think they're pretty good, I'm confident in my potential, and my writing profs always loved my work, so i know i'm not being self serving. The only thing about writing is the words always tend to expose your true emotions. From my old stuff, I get an empty feeling of loneliness and disgust. I found this particular poem stuffed in one of my textbooks from SCAD. I'm not even sure which man it was about, but sadly, it can apply to most of the men in my life. i haven't edited any of it, I will leave it like a time capsule. So I present my poem, for the joy of man, circa 2003-ish.

"you're cute," he says
only after knowing her,
after he's made breast and breath, his own
and left her thoughts windswept
like her bed
she had tears she wished to give,
heavy loads in need of distribution
but she saw how the sweat rolling down her back
bared a sweeter taste than her anguish,
her misgivings
her coming shorts,
(all of which she'd give easily)
and yet, she has yet to know a man,
one who could open his mind wider than her knees
one who whose heart was bigger
than the passion marks left on her thighs
or one whose vain concern for self
could melt faster than her consternation
after the flashing of his smile.

Labels: poetry, thoughts