The Pages of Myself You Took With You

Wrote some journals, now I'm back to writin poetry

The eyes in the back of my head see what is going on

But my hands write verses of an old, long-gone song

She'll take another hit at a guy she barely knew

She'll throw it at your face, turn around a find a new

I'll sit here, waiting in the outfield for what's next

The ball, now, flies over my head. Nice catch.

 

I cannot blame a person for my heart is no longer worth a glance

Like a used kleenex, I'm thrown and forgotten, only given a chance

I was used for my only talent which is being the best that I can

She blew her snot-filled nose all over me and threw me in a trash-can

But she missed the basket and left me on the ground only to be picked up by another

Not worth a second look, I waited and was soon thrown away by her mother

Evidently, neither the thought of me nor the impact I made on her was enough

The best I can be wasn't grand enough for miss, "I've got to sneeze"

But the comfort I gave her was enough to unlock her chained hand-cuffs

So, all in all, I was never told or shown what comfort she could give me

Instead, I was lost, alone and in the dark with nothing but the hopeless dreams of a key.

 

I can't be mad but I can remain upset, for there is a place in my heart where an empty feeling is kept.

A naked sold alive in the dark, lost and untold of the beauty found within another’s heart.

I cannot mourn over the fact that another angel has lost interest in a fool like myself.

However, living with that truth causes me disbelief and sharp pain of emptiness stacked on the shelf.

It's just another trophy symbolizing how far I can get with a girl and how fast I can lose my mind.

My body grows stronger each day but my subconscious eats at the insecurities that I constantly bind.

Like a book, I am torn, used, looked at, skimmed through and then soon left behind.

But the words remain on the page and only a caring librarian can fix what is yours and what is mine.

For my feelings are inscribed in the book. If you would have cared, then maybe the pages you ripped out wouldn't be so hard to find.

Author's Note

First poem I've written in a while. All criticism and comments are welcome!

Reviews

[Bhavya Kaushik]

I always believed that you write better poetry/ prose than journals and this is a solid proof for that.
The depth of this piece is overwhelmingly SAD! Right from when I read the title of this piece, I knew it will going to be heart-wrenching and I was right!
'Like a book, I am torn, used, looked at, skimmed through and then soon left behind." - This is an example of raw emotions at its BEST!
I'm reading your work after a very long interval of time now, and I can see the coming of a new age here. You have grown a lot as a writer in this year.