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A Poem About Love

November 27, 2012

by Sean Michael, The Dead Poet, June 2011
To you, Mom, from your eldest son

She wants me to write a poem about love,
but all I feel is hatred.
I look to the sky for inspiration,
but all I find is the blues.
I look to the ground for something shiny and special,
but all I see is dirt.

How can I write about love in my heart?
All my heart feels is hurt.
Every night seems like the end,
but in the morning it all begins again.
There’s too much emptiness in my life.
there always has been.
This hole in my soul makes it hard for me to enjoy  myself,
so I try to enjoy hating myself,
while looking in the mirror–facing myself.
Who the fuck are you?
Where have you been?
So long, so lost,
so lost, so long,
not quite knowing the truth.

We can make it through hard times–
I’m living fucking proof–
or life would be hell until it’s through.
I say be strong and carry on.
So as not to be the hypocrite,
I march forth in my boots.

Sometimes I just want to quit,
I’m sick of this shit.
Look, I’m sick of this shit!
My own words disgust me,
I disgust my fucking self!
A lot of people hated me.
I never needed their help.
I lay my head on concrete,
While they rest theirs on silk.
I’m jealous and I covet.
I try to be humble and just say fuck it.

My life is in too much chaos to know what or how I feel,
my mind’s a fucking War Zone.
My life’s been built upon this cornerstone.
Why should I complain?
Jesus Christ, what can I say?
Quaver, waver, and PRAY!
I’ll just burn myself with a lighter,
make a few cuts with a razor,
smoke a joint or a cigarette, and
have a stiff drink.

This poem is over ………
I can’t even fucking think……….

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From → Art, Poetry

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