I wish I had a thousand apologies,
for my brain and all its awkwardcies
for all the pain I see in my minds eye
Nobodies perfect, people make mistakes,
but I wish I could remain together
mind body and space,
I am not a saint, I am not a sinner,
I am just a manic, a confused individual
built up on principles,
from my parents, that lose weight
hope I see sunshine and keep it.
lately I have been singing a thousand songs
and keeping just as many secrets
realizing that the world I write
this poetry book will never be finished
but to me its like a wish list
for all of your future happinesses
when you have a life of mine,
after a while you don’t even live it,
roll with the punches, and ask forgiveness
SO much shit I deal with on a normal basis
you see me, I see you
but I have a thousand different faces,
catch me in one look, and I look learned, deep in thought
look at me again, and I look stupid, or useless to y’all
or take me in again, and its like smoke from a pen,
it doesn’t make sense, like ink from a cigarette,
and now I cough, my bruised lungs in and out,
and I wish there was a happiness in all of this,
but I don’t see no roses and there is no happiness I know of,
of being two or three different people to the ones you love,
three or four more, to people who don’t understand you,
one or two to the face that you look at,
and a myriad of people when you listen inside,
to those voices in your mind, the lies spill like an hour glass.
and I feel like I am running out of time.
I wish I had a second chance, and as I write it, I hope for change,
Books will open and close just the same,
the doors will open and close just the same,
more people will go in and more people will come out,
just the same,
and no one will remember a goddamn thing.
like a doors melody, or a somber secret told,
I am just another face in the rain,
i am just another metaphor, for human nature,
I am just next to you on the train,
feverishly writing and keeping my stare the same.
fixed on my notebook
wishing I could just leave this place.
I wish I didn’t feel like this.
I wish I could be good with numbers
instead of words.
arithmetic instead of pathetic phonetics.
I think I will just listen to the Lizard King
and escape into the music,
if only or an instant, I feel a part of something.
Absolutely love your poem! May I reprint it (you will receive full credits + plus a link to your original post) on my website http://www.jimmorrisonproject.com. Thank you for your consideration.
I would be happy to do that