My earliest memory in life means nothing.
It involves a woman I don't talk to anymore,
a place I've never gone to again,
and a food that I've never really liked.
Yet, there it has stayed.
Imprinted into my brain with a pointless and uninspiring permanence.
Smelling like stagnant lake water and
tasting like warm Kraft singles.
Tag: Poetry
The Hedge
It's getting harder to notice where you hit the hedge with your car.
It took a few years, but it's branches are beginning to burst and bloom.
It's sharp pine needles finally flourishing and filling in the gaps that your hood had left.
Now even the scarred foliage seems to be smirking at what you did.
It's triumph much more than just another act of nature.
Picture
One of the best pictures I've ever taken is one I struggle to look at.
At one point I even framed it, but I had to take it down.
It was more than just an image.
It was a melancholy memory that I mistakingly forced between wood and glass.
It was a moment in time that should always remain just that. Nothing more, nothing less.
Raised
My environment made me this way.
It has made me volatile, self-destructive, and deeply despondent.
Yet I wasn't abused nor neglected.
Society's standards have tried to suffocate me into a state of submission that I struggle to silence.
I was never raised to be resentful and restless, but I have grown into these grievances.
Babel
I realized that I had flipped through an entire chapter without retaining any words.
My eyes had scanned each line of thirteen full pages without actually reading a single letter.
Thirteen.
I apparently had no desire to try to comprehend anything besides the blur of babel in my mind.
So I closed the book with a sigh.
Unreliable
I'm an unreliable narrator.
My stories are missing timelines and their details have been diluted by either drugs or depression.
Although that's probably for the best.
Why repeat what I'm urged to remember,
but compelled to forget?
Alley
Him
One night split my life
into two separate eras.
Before him and after him.
Detachment
I was unable to feel the detachment I so desperately desired.
Instead, I felt everything I had begged to stay away.
The anger. The jealousy. The unintentional longing.
All the unjust and unexplainable emotions that I had fought so hard to avoid.
Quietly
I hope that when it's time for me to leave,
I go quickly and quietly.
This world has deserved nothing but my screams.
Yet my soul will only seek silence in the end.
AO Poetry 
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