Ode to You, I

Ode to You, I

A Poem by Jesse Lancaster

It's not really an ode, I just thought it'd be a good title! I've been working on this one for a while.


In your new skin you've become something else,

     each patch borrowed,

     recycled sense of self

     suits your leather jacket well.


     Solitude has come to define my time

     but I find alleys to dwell in, cowardice

     becomes my full-time occupation, refined

     by hours that were better left in bed

         with my mind occupied--

         haunted by words in repetition,

          in the attempt to make sense.



     Winter never comes easy for me,

     a newfound struggle

     for warmer months in between 

dare we set foot into the 

places I once thought free from

     the stench of home, putrid 

memories of days spent studying

ceilings and the shape of a bathroom sink, 

a daze I've become all too familiar with,

         rotten floorboards and

         restless corpses that whisper

         with every creak.



Another factor beyond control,

Another wall to keep you cold,

     a dream in which we can speak

     but find yourself askew;

not the same fragile being you thought

     you knew, had come to know so well

and it leaves you cold.




      Despite my fears, I lack preparation.

     I don't think I'll be ready for the flood.

     Alone on an ark full of holes and good intentions,

         diagnosed with a self-imposed plague, a disease

     you've been dying to name all the while

         aware it was only a matter of time

     before we gave up on salvaging the wreck,

         left to willingly cast ourselves into

     a ravine of indifference just to become

engrossed in another entity entirely.


Not short of opposites are we,

thinking too slow but changing too fast.

Two jars: one closed, the other open--half empty.

   Plastic and Glass, we weren't meant to last.


A prisoner to a decade-old twin bed,

he held on tightly the past and

left the world beyond

the bedframe to its vices.

© 2012 Jesse Lancaster

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Five points for commenting on my own poem? How can I pass this up? Not that points really seem to do much for me. I have over 200 of them. POINTS WHAT ARE YOUR PURPOSE>AEF
Anyway, I do like this poem a bit. Doesn't really fit the flow I've become accustomed to now, but it's nice and long nonetheless. Probably should've broken it up into several smaller poems. No worries. It's okay as it is.

Posted 11 Years Ago

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1 Review
Added on February 27, 2012
Last Updated on September 13, 2012
Tags: skin, leather jacket, recycled, repetition, winter, spring, summer, free, home, warmth, rotten, corpse, whispers, dream, pile


Jesse Lancaster
Jesse Lancaster

Manchester, CT

I'm Jesse Lancaster. No I'm not. I am: 19 And now: @ Uni for my sophomore year. My writing draws heavy influences from the music I listen to, other writers (such as Chuck Palahniuk, John Green a.. more..


Compartment 114
Compartment 114
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