As I sit and push down keys with letters and symbols that when used in any other way are pretty much useless,
I attempt to recollect the moments shared with the girl with multicolored hair.
I wouldn't be the first to ask an all-knowing, supreme being for a button that replays certain scenes of my life,
Or a brain that allows me to watch my past like a teenage romance movie,
But not just watch, but to feel everything from the cold man-made wind
to the pleather seats and the chalky foundation on the skin of a young, female human;
To smell the exhaust of the large yellow vehicle,
the funk of different bodies, colognes and perfumes,
and the smell of food on her breath
as she speaks with her face so close to mine
that kissing would only make the moment less intimate.
I could only dream to be taken back to the darkness
where her skin is fluorescent and beautiful;
The darkness that frees people of themselves
and allows limitless communications,
the darkness that makes me brave.
She-- the unintended siren-- with the multicolored hair
and the eyelashes that flutter without the intent to lure,
brings gaiety with her into the night
and takes with her my contempt to only be an observer.
I push down these keys with otherwise worthless letters,
and realize how my prayer for that moment
which I wish to relive has screwed me up completely
and demolished any inner peace I would've had
just watching and hoping, without the incredible thing ever happening.
I know myself enough to know that I can never be satisfied,
that some type of overreaching will be the death of me.
I know myself enough to know that, because I am the being I am,
the being that longs for things it just can't have,
I will destroy everything good thing of that moment.
YOU ARE READING
The Book of Poetry in the Back of My Cabinet
ŞiirJust a bunch a poems... let's see where this goes. You should read them though, if you like poetry. They're pretty cool. Yes... I write poetry because I'm too lazy to write full stories.
