I am the smart one.
Blonde curtain falls over
Thick glasses
Studious and so
Intelligent
Yet I'm a
Hopeless romantic
And I cry out "love"
Where I am certain love resides
In me.
Darker.
Don't know what anyone sees in me
there oughtn't be anyone
want to get too close
I burn
all the pain away
I burn
the love she says she feels but I
know she couldn't
I seem self-conscious
I seem once vain
Still vain to the point of
self-banishment
a Phantom
All parts of me.
Segue. These children fail to understand the predicaments which
They have embroiled themselves within
Their own emotions.
I have no need for such trivial,
Petty,
Trite feelings which are only fabrication.
I have no need for their
Immature and
Quiet. This doesn't matter
This is screaming torture
LOUDLY!
Like loud as I'll ever be or more
Her poems don't make sense
No way.
Like neither do I.
I'm so confused whatever like
the Question was was
Stream of consciensness or something?
I think. Like whatever.
Are you seeing these pieces of me yet?
Different voices each
clamoring for their turn.
And I am helpless to stop
or curtail them from
each coming forward and speaking
These are people I
knew and met and
inadvertently
became.
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