Knowing Myself
When did I go
From the one
Always trying to fit in
To the one
With her foot in her mouth
Who couldn’t care less?
I always used to be the one
Molding myself
To fit whoever’s ideals
So I could be in the middle
It’s a little confusing
Because
I still have no idea
Who I am
But it would seem
Now I know
Exactly who I’m not
Look, the poem that was supposed to be here days ago!
Mediator, Traitor
They call me the Peacekeeper
The friend in the middle
The sibling in the center
Holding up the caution flags
Mediating a truce
They tell me that I’m wonderful
That I’m a true friend
But I don’t feel the same
I don’t want to be the one
Sorting out the facts
I don’t want to be the one
Taking all the blows
I don’t want to be the one
On whom you unload all your crap
I hate to break it to you
But I’m not bulletproof
I love you
I love her
I love him
I love them
But after all this time
Somehow I’ve lost my love of me
You say I play the mediator
But I call myself a traitor
Because I’ve lost my own sense of justice
Trying to appease you all
I tell you I think the same
I tell her I think the same
I tell him I think the same
I tell them I think the same
But what I really think
Has been lost
Because I much too afraid
Of losing
You
Her
Him
Them
They call me Peacekeeper
The one with all the patience
The one who sees it all
But someday I’m going to lose it
And find myself
And yet another one inspired by To Kill a Mockingbird…
Believe
Why do we fight
For what we believe in
Tooth and nail
Without pause?
Why don’t we back down
When everyone else
Tells us
We’re wrong?
Where does that strength
And that courage
Come from
To keep us firm?
Maybe I know those answers
Maybe I don’t
But I understand the reality
Of the strength of the people
Who stand up to
Make a case
For what they believe
No matter what happens
Or what anyone says
And they never surrender
Simple because
They believe
All right, all right–I really am trying to keep up over here! I’m always writing, but I’m just not posting. Life and stuff has been busying and otherwise in the way. I suppose I can let my poetry be a testament to that.
Denial
When did this change?
When did it go from fun
To horrid?
From easy
To hard?
I don’t know
But I want to
Because I can’t take the tears
I don’t want to think
That I know why she walked out
The thoughts hurt my head
And blur my vision
With red
I’ll live in denial
Just to make this stop
Because I don’t want to understand
Her why
And I know want to understand
Her feelings
Because if I admit I know
All her reasoning
Then I’ll know my blackest dream
Can be achieved
And I could survive it
So I’ll leave too
So I got to thinking today about plans, and how I don’t tend to make them. Yet, when I do, I really hate to have them messed up–like, seriously hate. Yeah, maybe it’s a pet peeve, but I can’t be the only one out there. 😀 So that thought led to another, which led to another, and another and– You outta know that my mind is all over the place by now! Here’s what I ended up with.
My Plan
I had a plan
But you decided
Now wasn’t the time
Wasn’t the place
You said it should wait
I should change the hour
Switch the day
You suggested maybe
I should forget about it
I had a plan
That you didn’t like
That scared you
That kept you up at night
So you didn’t think it was right
And you felt the need
To squash it
And you thought I’d just
Let it go
I had a plan
That didn’t involve you
And still doesn’t involve you
Because I knew how you’d react
And I don’t care
Since this is my choice
My adventure to have
And perhaps you’re right but
It’s my mistake to make
The inspiration for today’s poem actually came from the four page paper I was writing for Honors World History about The Age of Revolution (look it up, it’s good to know these things :D). One of the criteria for the essay was “a clear definition of revolution.” While what I wrote in my essay is far less poetic, my poem is an extension of my train of thought for that message.
Definition of Revolution: Noun, a sudden, radical, or complete change
Real Revolution
Revolution is a pot of water
Still until it starts to simmer
Steaming up the room until
It finally boils over
–
Revolution is a net
Bringing a myriad of people together
With invisible strings
And binding them together
–
Revolution is a flame
Lit by a burning few
Who throw some well-worded matches
Into a thirsting wood
–
Revolution is a wave
Starting far out at sea
Crashing onto hometown shores
While its ripples ride onto foreign beaches
–
Revolution is a ball
Rolling onward forevermore
Bouncing roughly but never breaking
Turning the world on its head
Do not ASK where this poem came from because I have no idea. I just started thinking about how no one really knows the real you and how annoying it is when people are just so sure they know you and yet they have no clue. I’m pretty sure everybody’s gotten that at some point!
Hidden Rebel
I say
This is me
And you believe me
Easily
It’s hysterical
The way you think
You know me
If I showed up tomorrow
With my hair
Dyed blue
Would it shock you?
Or maybe if I
Drove up
On a Harley
Your mouth would
Drop
You don’t know me
You ignorant soul
Who thinks I wouldn’t
Dye my hair and
Gun the throttle
And leave you behind
Forever
My Life is a Notebook 