Combustible

 If I had a dime for every line someone told me

I’d be in the poor house.

 

You know how some girls make it third base?

I can’t even find home plate

There is no plate,

No one pitching or batting.

 

Hell, there are a thousand people trying to

get to my field but all their maps are f*****g wrong.

 

And you have me.

Standing in an open field,

Lonely desperately trying to be perfect for opening day by

Pinching my skin and pushing the outward rubble in

Towards the hot center where imperfections are burned away

And you are left with nothing but one of Plato’s Forms.

 

Damn it must be great to be beautiful

And sorry I am so full of self pity, for ever since I was young I was told that I look wrong, sound wrong or act the wrong way

And not everyone will always like me so who the hell

Am I trying to impress anyway?

 

I am standing in an open field, eyes open to the sky

Begging anything with ears to help those

Maps suddenly become correct,

Because the way into my heart isn’t what people expect.

 

I am not what people expect I am combustible.

And like gasoline, I tend to react.

 

Reviews

[Eagle Cruagh]

I love an exciting poem, so I guess that means
I am in love.
Yup, in love with a poem, that`s me.
It is kind of like standing out in the field hoping
that someone will find you and your treasure.
Yup, it`s a problem.

Seems to me you sort of solved the problem though,
now everybody will be out there in the middle of
mystery land looking for the flowers.

Geeeeez, I sure hope they will know how to smell the
flowers should they ever find one.

I kind of prefer the Bougainvillea. Getting past all those
darn thorns can be a problem, but what`s a little prick
now and then when one is on the path of pure treasure.

Love your poem.

Please write more like this .

------ Eagle Cruagh