Poems

Nonsense. Stupid. Crap.

I sit down at the computer;

I'm in the zone.

I'm ready to write this poem and get it over with.

And the words are buzzing,

And the phrases are mumbling,

The sentences are conversing,

And paragraphs are stitching together

To form this beautiful dialog that I can't write.

No matter how long I sit here and type:

Nonsense. Stupid. Crap.

None of it makes sense.

It's all just

Nonsense. Stupid. Crap.

All these words singing in my head are driving me insane.

They spit lyrics and belt out solos,

And their timbre is burned into my temple like the finest graffiti.

But there is no way to write them when my hands want to be so greedy

And keep the singing birds in their cage;

Locked behind bars made of flesh and bone,

Of embarrassment and insecurity,

Because surely no one wants to hear a caged bird sing.

Because surely it's song is just

Nonsense. Stupid. Crap.

And who wants to hear a caged bird anyway?

Wouldn't we all rather hear that symphony of cash on payday?

Wouldn't you rather hear

Anything.

Something.

'Cause the thing is

There is nothing to hold you to this thing and make you listen to something

Because we all want something bigger than this thing.

Bigger than any little thing some words on a paper can bring.

No matter how long they ring

Out loud and fill a room

With song of love and gloom and overflow of something-

Something great.

But,

You see it as nothing.

Because surely

It's all just

Nonsense. Stupid. Crap.