Old Poetry

In high school, I wrote a slew of poetry, but I stopped abruptly. The following are the only two poems I've written in the past twelve years.



the fruit of your labor
January 11, 2002

Your memory crushes me
Your harshness a crutch
You failed to build me up
You failed to destroy me
You fail to enjoy your greatest dream
You insult my creativity
You deny the insult
You invalidated my dreams
You destroyed my art
You deprived the world
Your stoic nature
Your quick wit
Your definite, brilliant opinions
Your open-minded politics
Your closed-minded world
Your never ending cast of blame and denial of error
Pushed me away
You thrived on your creation of words
And abhorred my creations
Enjoy your hell
Rot in your dream




Perfection
August 19, 2007

I am not perfect.
I am intelligent.
I am educated.
I am knowledgeable.
But I am not perfect.

I am strong.
I am emotional.
I am insightful.
I am intuitive.
But I am not perfect.

I am creative.
I am musical.
I am artistic.
I am fluid.
But I am not perfect.

I am well spoken.
I have good grammar.
I have good spelling.
I have good diction.
But I am not perfect.

You think you write better than me.
You think I can't draw.
My music is too loud for you.
I am not the same as you.
And I shouldn't need your approval.
You are not perfect.





I find the power of words to be truly amazing. I'm amazed that one sentence could possibly have instilled so much bitterness in me. Every time I think about writing a poem, I think about how insignificant, how impotent she made me feel, and I'm helpless; I freeze. My brain shuts down and all that's left is the pure emotion, the bitterness, the anger, the hatred, the insecurity, the sheer terror of upsetting her, but she has been out of my life for nearly a decade.

Be careful what you say, as you never know how deeply it can hurt someone--even if the effect isn't immediate. All she said was, "my poetry is better than yours." Ultimately, though, it's not just what you say, as absolutely everything about her demeanor implied she was right and I was wrong.

When I finally left, I was a hollow shell of a man--not even a person. I lost $18k getting out of the marriage, but I wanted out so badly I didn't want to argue over it.

I had just turned 21.


That was a very long time ago.