Of Prozac and Ravens (revised, which do you like better?)

Thank God, Poe

Hadn't any Prozac.

Else we'd never know, of

Ravens and what men lack.

Are souls and sanity so easily lost?

Vain attempts at drunken bliss,

Escape is naught but at high cost-

Never more embrace joy's kiss.

Frustrated

I told myself that I wouldn't write another poem about her
So instead i'll write one about how frustrated i am
Frustrated that she lied to me
Frustrated that she's happier with me gone
Frustrated that when she isn't tearing out my heart and spitting on it, she's still so fun and friendly and attractive
Frustrated that the one upside of losing her was escaping the judgmental attitude that she suddenly dropped anyway
Frustrated that i used poetry to get over her and now she writes more than me
Frustrated that so many people love her and no one loves me
Frustrated that she still pretends to care
Frustrated that i ever believed her
Frustrated that i know i'm lying when i say i don't miss her any more
Frustrated that she barely had to think it over
Frustrated that other men are touching her
But this isn't a poem about her
It's about my frustration.

Dear Empath,

You think with emotions,
I feel with logic,
We've never seen eye to eye,
But if empathy is your specialty,
Why can't you see all my misery?
and why do you take your rage out on me?
what do you gain by spreading this pain?
or is it in vain that you drive me insane?
I know that you're scarred,
but you think only your life is hard?
Look closely and see, i too have been marred.
You were so kind when we met,
you were the only one
and lately my life has not been much fun.

Breaking Writer's Block

I've not written in quite some time;
no stories, or poems, or even a rhyme.
All the common excuses float through my head;
i've had no time and my muse must have fled.
Yet i've had time enough to wish i could write,
so the calender's not the source of my plight-
and here's my muse now, galloping by,
but it seems that still i can't meet her eye.
So what is blocking my hand from the page?
Why do i feel my thoughts trapped in a cage?
Now i feel the answer looms near,
finally i see him, my nemesis; Fear.
I hold the key to set my thoughts free
but there is something inside I choose still to hide.

Three Years

Maybe if i spend three years
writing down every moment we've shared
i can finally capture this feeling.
The feeling only you can give me.
Then i can share it with the world,
show everyone that perfection is real.
Maybe if the whole world feels the same way
you make me feel
we'll have no more wars, cure cancer, end world hunger.
But that would take three years at least,
and every day without you is so painful.
So sorry everyone, you'll just have to live with war.

On Paper

I won't be happy until i've put you down
      on paper.
Then i can carry you around in my pocket,
If that's the only way i can be with you-
 so be it.

So Beautiful

So Beautiful i'm staying up late trying to put it in words and coming nowhere close
So Beautiful you make a coward ready to take on the world and go on adventures
So Beautiful you make me hate myself
So Beautiful you make me love myself again
So Beautiful it's okay that it makes no sense
So Beautiful i've known you for years and even though every word has been true every minute
     I'm only writing it now
So Beautiful because you understand pain and how to make it go away
So Beautiful because you make the whole world an extraordinary adventure
So Beautiful everyone loves you and you deserve it
So Beautiful because you make me laugh, think, write, act, dance, run, dream, love
So Beautiful because you make me feel funny, smart, daring, clever, energetic, calm, happy
So Beautiful i'd do anything for you
So Beautiful i'm always afraid i'll scare you away
So Beautiful i've used so many words and still come nowhere close

Except Me

I

LOVE

YOU

BECAUSE       

YOU                   

MAKE

 E                          

H       W                     

T             H                       

R       O              

O   L       L               

      W        D       E                        

      MORE

UL                

IF                      

UT                            

EA                                  

B                        except me             

Not a Poet

I know i'm not a poet because i can't find the words to describe how you make me feel,
there is more in it than love alone.
I know that I could write you a thousand poems
and i still wouldn't be satisfied.
I don't know what it is to be truly happy without you.
Yet you bring me so many types of pain.
The screaming vacuum in my chest when i know i can't hold you,
or the writhing in my stomach when i see you with someone else and know you'll never be so happy with me.
It's not that I'm not happy for you,
the worst pain is seeing you upset
and being powerless to help.
I am happy for you, but not enough to be happy.
Because when you are happy with someone else,
you are further from me,
and your absence is my agony.
It's my own fault.
You are the only voice of the thousands in my head
that says
"everything will be ok."

I can't move at all without that voice;
no poetry,
no success,
no rest.
But there was only one moment i truly believed.
The happiest moment of my life.
You said you loved me
and i still remember
when i discovered that you were lying.
I'll never forget-
and you still say you love me
and i don't know what to do.
I can't afford to believe you only to discover that you are still lying,
not again.
I can't ask the million questions encircling my dreams;
how much?
then why don't we talk more?
why do i so often feel like a nuisance?
why then can i not hold you close?
why can't you say what you said before?
"everything will be ok"
why don't i believe you?

You can't possibly love me,
not as much as i love you.
Things would be different.
So why say it?
to taunt me?
yet still.
I need to believe.
I can't breath without you
and you won't leave my dreams;
teasing me endlessly with a better life
that i'll never have
and is probably still not as good
as the reality
you share with him.
It's not that i don't like him.
I do like him.
So much i wish i was him.
You make my life a paradox-
the only reasons to love me
were pointed out by you,
but in comparing myself to what you deserve
my unending flaws emerge.
Maybe if i were a poet
i could make all of this graceful rather than pathetic.
But you're simply to beautiful for me to describe.

The Journey (a Villanelle)

.the smoke might have foretold the blaze

,i suppose then that i had not the mood

,entered unseen ,to escape from this maze

.broken ,beleaguered ,i set down to graze

;twisting the cud, i swallowed and chewed

.the smoke might have foretold the blaze

.struggle to find ,as my eyes glaze

-with way lost ,my hands do brood

-entered unseen ,to escape from this maze

and if i must ,this whole field i shall raze

!fuck this whole place ;don't care if it's crude

!the smoke might have foretold the blaze

...heading forward and torward for days and more daze

while polarized nymphs offered me bells in the nude

;entered unseen ,to escape from this maze

.livations are needed, so grant me your gaze

!grant me salvation -my sins are renewed

-the smoke might have foretold the blaze

;entered unseen, to escape from this maze

Of Prozac and Ravens

Thank God, Poe

Hadn't any Prozac.

Else we'd never know, of

Ravens and what men lack.

Are souls and sanity so easily lost?

Vying for hands to grasp as our hearts bleed.

Even the coldest of minds, covered in frost

Needs, occasionally, for tears to be freed.