Since I am so snarky about other people's written words, namely poetry, I thought I'd put my own rather feeble attempts on the perverbial chopping block. Most poetry I write, like most people, comes out of soured relationships but I will spare the two (close friends) who are kind enough to graze my site with their eyeballs. These are about the general absurdities of every(day) life.
small, white, lies
escape from my lips
they come bouncing down to the floor.
rolling around on the ground
these meaningless fabrications
slide around my feet
my lovelife or my carrer or my age
whatever particular insecurity
manifests instelf that day.
though i'll try not to step
on one of these small, cracked jewels
i know eventually one will get caught under my shoe.
i'll wind up on the floor
looking like a fool: my dress torn, my hell broken,
scrambling to get up, my mouth wide open.
on a porch one cold summer night
listening to stories
of your memories.
tales of people i don't know
history, so much, history.
names that signify something to you
but not to me
laughing on cue, sighing when need be, crying if you want me to.
above all - i am listening
to your past being glorifed, the present seems to terrify.