untitled

written november 9, 2008. two days after my birthday.

I have these amazing thoughts

but I never

get to a pen and paper fast enough to transfer them.

Waiting for the sun to come

on an empty dirty street

I haven't slept in days

They say that change is on its way

But he grew cold and turned away

And here I am alone again.

I can see my breath in this morning dusk

no heat or jackets can wash this freeze out

I am a Joan of Arc in my own mind

given to the kneeling servitude of mankind

torn and confused

so many people pick apart all the negatives and imbalances

of this lonely little life

But I don't believe in that. I believe there is still hope.

A naiive burst of light bouncing around to the unhappy

the depressed, those who look in a public mirror and see worthless,

the lost, the lonely, and the unfavored. Whether or not

they think me crazy or otherwise, I don't care. I am one of the

innocent, a bright spark in passing.

What am I worth? And should I even be asking?

I have seen a million faces and none have ever lasted

I have been a million places and nothing's been fantastic.

 

 

Author's Note

Ignore the sporadic tense.