Euphonic poems

I re-read everything on this blog, and I'm a little embarrassed. I didn't cut deep into my emotions and I ended prematurely. I've been writing a lot since the last time I've gotten on here. Needless to say I think I improved as a writer and I'd like to post a few poems.

Fear
The feeling courses up my back
massaging like a thousand insects
until it rests on my lower neck
Silence
A cold feeling envelopes me
like walking into a building
from an Atlanta's summer day.
It must be a presence, a strong emotion
that never disappeared.
My fear heightens my senses
My blood runs marathons
because I can't understand it.
Why is this presence left behind?
It is a mystery,
and that is what I love about it.
For me this uncomfortable feeling
is worth exploring a new frontier.
Perhaps that is why I point
to the moon and the stars
rather than the heavens.

I got into a fight with a friend recently and when I'm imbalanced I use poetry to make me feel better. Here's a very honest poem:

The pain in my side is not a lie.
I'm not mad just a little hurt.
But even though it seems nice sorry is the last word I want to hear.
Let me feel the pain,
don't pull the punch right when you landed it squarely in my face.
It happened, it's an emotion and it deserves as much time as happiness.
So fa li da li da li da prance around and laugh a lot; because I want my full disdain.
For it comes with the pain.
Sorry is taking that away.
I'm not going to hang out with you the next day.
You think you're cute, you think you're funny;
but in the end you're fake and crabby.
Cold words to hear and I wouldn't want you to change.
For me, love is lost and friendship a game.
Never will my trust fully lie in any person.
So you think you did some damage? Think again.
I hurt more than you can ever imagine.
Think of your sheltered box on the side of the street trying to keep a homeless person's feet warm, wet and shredded with holes: the inside so cold.
Picture the box crushed and made into a thousand tiny folds.
Well I'm that unwrinkled box standing before you.
Sorry isn't the word: you're welcome is more like it.
Thanks for the honesty minus awkward convo.
Screw off for taking my sarcasm too literally and thinking that I'm not good enough to spend as much time as I do with y'all.
I'm not going to get angry over such trivial things
just get a little hurt but at least I know you better now.

An Odd Evening

OK well I oft go into my mother's room late at night because it is the only place I could rig my XBOX 360 to an ethernet cord and play Halo 3. Why late at night you ask? Well because I work, and I'm usually not off work until at least 11 p.m.

I bet you're so glad this blog didn't go a different way, because I'm sure that's a common opening sentence to reveal a huge secret; i.e. "I often go into my mother's room late at night because I have reoccurring dreams of having a panda rubbing his ass all over me," or "because I have attachment issues from a broken home and need to be near to the only family I have when it's dark and it's everything I think about." Fortunately I suffer from the allusion that Pandas are cuddly like almost everyone who hasn't actually touched a Panda (who are actually rough and coarse), and my broken home situation is not going to keep me away from sleep which I love.

Well now that I've assured you against the sick little happenings in your mind when you first read the beginning of that sentence let's continue. Well tonight is one of those nights because I downloaded a lot of new music and have been loving it enough to not turn it off (even after I finished Halo). So this is what I'm currently doing, and my mom stopped snoring at the moment so I have the full pleasure of having my eardrums vibrate to She & Him (4th artist of the night). This is too non-fictiony for this blog.

Well in the island of youth there are people who prance about naked and love the earth, and look at their young, firm bodies with pride and enjoyment. But here there is an unease. Everyone feels the same. They need to do something more, greater. After all the world is theirs to improve and create in their idealized minds. They spend years and years improving their structures and finding new ways to catch lots of fish and harvest grain so more people can build and less gather food. Species get scarce, but bellies get round and the living quarters and work places get taller and wider. The now adults look on their work with admiration and pride; much the same they looked upon their own beauty as youth. Isn't this great they say? More people and less clutter. They begin to hate animals who try to profit off what they created and call them pests. Overtime they grew old and sour, and eventually they can't stand the noise of the place they created, and go to the other side of the island. Here it is quiet and they can admire the species that they haven't killed. Ain't humanity grand?