Friday, January 23, 2009

roses are read, violets just blow

Danielle has been posting old and silly poems and although I am proud to say I never wrote shitty teenage poetry before (I have three more years to actually write a TEENAGE poem, after that they will only be shitty poems.) I think my diary entries are dramatic enough without the metaphors and vague word combination (think: the sunset of my eyes carry you home). I also figured that it is in my nature to be pretty straight forward with my thoughts and writing. I hate flowery nonsense. That being said, I was shuffling through my old journals and found something close to being a poem. So for the first time in history, the second half of Might Beluga reveals the poet inside:

She sleeps with feathers in her hair and wakes to find an illegible song she scrawled in the dark the night before. If only the ideas didn't fade before the lights turned on again. "I can't keep writing in the dark and one more flash with burn out the bulb"

I actually don't think it's that bad. But that's probably because I'm an arrogant motherfucker.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

I wish I had written more shitty poems when I was younger so I could look back on the anguished days of my youth! Feathers in her hair...that is probably the floweriest phrase I've ever heard you say.

-D

Jon said...

wow i never thought you would have written something like this lol

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