I wrote a dozen poems
Off the top of my head;
Wrote them, wondering
If I was better off dead.
Because I fight with my brother;
I fight with my mom.
Sometimes I fight with my sister
When she goes on and on.
So I wrote a dozen poems
Just to clear out my mind:
They were pretty good,
And of the earnesty kind.
I would have shared them with you,
But I was out walking,
And by the time I came in,
Every one I’d forgotten!
My thoughts are my letters,
That never get sent, sir;
My thoughts are my letters
That never get done.
I mean to write letters —
But some are much better;
I mean to write letters,
But they’re never quite done.
They’re there in my mind, sir:
My kindest of letters;
They’re there in my mind, sir,
But what can be done?
Best left to their betters,
These thrice-cursed letters;
Best left to their betters,
For I am quite done.
Well, you’ve got my head a-scratching–
(You’ve got my head a-scratched?
“You’ve got my head a-scratching…”
We’ll just go with that.)
You’ve got my head a-scratching;
He’s a-scratching at the door.
He’s a-scratching for a-something,
But can’t find what he’s a-scratching for.
Yep, you got him all a-looking
But he’s all a-lost as to what for.
Perhaps it’s how to go a-cooking
Without a-losing all the flour to the floor.
And now he’s really all a-scratching
Because a-baking’s what he’s searching for;
Must’ve been a-deviled to say “cooking”!
Er… but that’s not what he’s a-scratching for.
He was a-scratching for ideas;
Must’ve a-scratched right through his core,
‘Cause when you’re a-thinking for some reasons,
You don’t go a-bulling through the China store!
Disclaimer: I have absolutely no idea what this is. Truly, I’ve no a-knowing where it came from at all! I was just a-going about my day, trying maybe not to slay anyone who even looks at me the wrong way (anyone and everyone!! Basically), and I decided I’d a-try and lift my mood by a-letting go a little. Don’t you be a-judging! I’m mostly just a-kidding. But… I’m still a-going. Yeah, okay, I’ll be a-stopping now. Don’t want to get stuck like that…
I am one to give up;
I am one to back down.
I am one to turn a smile
I am one to wander;
I am one to drift.
I am one to wonder,
Though thinking leaves me miffed.
I am one of many;
I am one alone.
I am one who dreams too much
Instead of waking up at home.
Am I one who gives up?
I’m sitting here right now.
Do I never smile?
But I laugh like a clown!
Do I often wander?
That doesn’t mean I’m lost.
And if it’s a penny for my thoughts,
Then they’re well worth the cost.
Am I one of many?
I often feel alone.
But if I ever dream too much
It’s because my dreams are someone else’s home.
There are days I dare to dream,
Then tell myself it’s not to be:
“Foolish girl!” I’ll reprimand;
“Yes, you: For that is all they see.”
True or not, that’s what it seems;
And what else will it ever be
If this foolish girl
Doesn’t dare to dream?
Leave me down the rabbit hole;
Leave me crying in the rain.
Go back home where you belong:
You are not to blame.
Return back to reality:
Don’t dare speak its name.
Just leave me to my rabbit hole
And I will do the same.
I shut the door,
Bridges to burn
Or peace to find.
You stand outside
And wait patiently
For me to decide
What I want to be.
There’s an ill wind, blows from the east,
Yet always blows into my eyes;
And carries with it ashes of things
Ravaged, then by time disguised.
It blows the dust of men long-lived,
Maybe even wise;
And that of urchins, bony-ribbed,
Firm with deceit and lies;
And what remains of maidens fair,
And perchance the elven race:
This the wind, in passing there,
Invites me to face.
So if some days you chance upon me
And I have tears within my eyes,
Pray don’t leave me, wondering,
Or gaping in surprise;
For I’m just contemplating
Long forgotten lives
And trying to keep from thinking
One day those ashes will be mine.
But they seem so knowledgeable!
Could it really be
That they don’t know any more
Than you, or than me?
A well spoken word
Is still just a word:
The word’s only action
Is from the well-rounded herd.
Don’t listen to the bark
Or let yourself be cowed;
There are times to ride the waves,
And times to stand your ground.
Read me, if you will;
Read me if you won’t.
Read me in my solitude —
But when I’m watching, don’t.
Read me when my back is turned,
Or when I’m lost in thought;
Read me when I’m found again —
Just don’t let yourself be caught.