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Wrote this one in pieces walking to class. Was thinking about how hectic my life can be sometimes, and how being so busy doesn't always seem worth it.
"Tick Tock"
Is all the world mad,
and I the only island of sanity?
For I have noticed the strangest practice.
In every room we place a circle,
born of glass and plastic,
give it numbers,
one through twelve,
and give it two little arms,
one a bit longer than the other,
and we set them spinning in rhythmic circles.
And say to them,
“these shall be our god,”
Tell us what to do,
when to go and when to come,
when to bed and when to rise,
When to be what we want to be,
live how we want to live,
I can’t help wondering,
why is the master on the wall the one to call the shots?
Can’t we throw them all away?
And I ask you again,
is all the world mad?
Or just me?
---
Everyone is so quiet on the bus! I guess it's to be expected when you put a bunch of strangers in a small area together, but I thought it was remarkable enough today to write a little poem about it.
"Joy #2"
Why is joy so strange?
Why do we bottle it up,
Like fine wine,
Reserved for special occasions,
Why are we all so somber?
I feel like I'm on a prison bus
Nothing but blank faces
Contemplating blank fates
But I feel it,
As we slip into the misty city
Mystery and joy and love
They are all waiting for me
Just around the bend.
---
I wrote this one about parties and how uncomfortable they make me.
"Untitled #11"
All their eyes,
They are devouring my resolve,
Beggaring my tongue
And wearing me down
Stand here,
Sit there
It will not feel right
Every weak and stilted phrase
Just makes things worse
So i slip away
To find a little peace
From everything I'm not
And maybe never can be
It's not you, you, or you
It's just me
And an easily overwhelmed heart
But i have never known how to give up,
So I'm sure I'll find myself here again
In a place of peace, buffeted by the noises
Of a crowd I love but cannot talk to
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