Pages of Poetry

I think unrequited love stories are some of the worst representatives of the phenomenon of romanticization. You can romanticize your love for five, ten, fifteen years - but eventually the rose tint on your glasses will weather away and all you'll be left with is a brutal, clear hindsight. Unrequited love stories in media are so well-loved (the irony) because there is an end to them - and more often than not, the closure is a happy one. We love these stories because we love the excitement of the chase, the romanticized sadness and longing, the hope that the loved one will, one day, turn around and say "I love you, too." There is a whole world of possibility - but it is very neatly contained in start and end brackets. You know that the happy ending is on its way, but the time frame is just long enough to give you the suspense and excitement of a real, honest-to-God unrequited love story. But since time in media only moves as fast as you do, a whole lifetime of love, happine

Black waves, roiling on a black sea Jagged stood the rock, piercing a sky torn By the brightest silver My bright blue canoe, my bright blue canoe My white oars, my white anchor My bowed head, and salty tears swelling the sea I cared too much about staying afloat To worry about being struck by sky-electricity Jagged rock, it loomed large Bright blue struck black Blue never stood a chance I can't sail, I can't sail the sea My bright blue canoe, hope-blue canoe, Faith-blue canoe, and trusty anchor My spindly oars, patting the water Reassuring the water As the sea laughed at me And the sea laughed at me And tossed me in the air And the sea dragged me down And tumbled me over Cat and mouse, cat and bird, Sea and me.

we used to sit and talk so cynically but now you ’ve gone and done it you’ve gone and broken your heart now whom I will laugh with about the tragedy of love you’ve gone and broken your heart and left me behind. I’m sick of it all let’s move out into the sun and not think about love this is so messy let’s clean it up let’s not talk about things we weren’t meant to think about anyway because if you ask me honestly it’s not worth it. don’t mistake me. I’m a hardened skeptic because if I weren’t I would be much unhappier than I am right now love is a spider eating away at my brain so I shoo it away not kill it, because you can’t kill love I shoo it away but it comes back and tenaciously builds cobwebs in the corners of my mind until until I think I might explode under the pressure so I try to step back step away but it dogs my footsteps I’m afraid, a little, of dogs I’m afraid of love that’s it, yes I’m a

Three trees stood in a wood Their leaves whispering to each other Three gossipy old trees. Three trees stood in a wood They had eyes of red Red, almost brown. Three trees stood in a wood Red eyes see everything that Brown and blue and green do not. Three trees stood in a wood Their thoughts are slow and black They think for a thousand years. Three trees stood in a wood A black thought is never good An old thought is always evil. Three trees stood in a wood Let the dead lie Under their shadowy branches. Three trees stood in a wood The dead whisper their pale secrets Into their sinuous roots. Three trees stood in a wood Birds rest not here Here in the home of the dark. Three trees stood in a wood These branches never bowed With heavy, sweet fruit. Three trees stood in a wood Woe befall he who sees them Evil haunts the axe-man. Three trees stood in a wood Drinking in the rain greedily And smacking their red lips. Three trees stood in a wood Old wood may splinter But

This is the fourth in a series of poems written to be performed as spoken word poetry. The common theme is mental illness. This particular poem deals with bipolar disorder. Hello, hello, hello. I'm sorry, I'm just a little nervous. Please don't mind. It's just - Well, if I tell you a secret, Can you keep it? I'm actually a king. Yes! It's true Maybe you don't believe me - You really don't believe me But it's true! Maybe, I can show you my crown some day You'd like that? You'd like that? Listen to me! Why aren't you listening? What is it about me that makes you turn away, That makes you ashamed, Why won't you look at me? Just look at me, damn it! You poor, pathetic little thing. You'll never know what it feels like, To swing up into the sky, floating on clouds, Giving a new meaning to the word high And then suddenly swooping down, And doing a loop-de-loop, And going up, and down, And flying, Flying fa

This is the third in a series of poems written to be performed as spoken word poetry. The common theme is mental illness. This particular poem deals with anxiety disorder. I'm a quiet guy. My friends will tell you I'm a nice guy. The girl I like will tell you I'm a sweet guy, But she doesn't see me that way. But that's okay! I don't want to scare them away. Because it's true. I am a quiet guy. But inside my head, Things are so - damn - loud! You're not good enough. You will never be good enough. My friends will tell you I'm a friendly guy. But what they won't tell you, What they don't know Is that I rely on the voices around me To drown out the ones in my head. You're not good enough. You will never be good enough. Stop! Just - leave - me - alone! I can't handle it Some days, I want to step out of myself I want to abandon this ship Because it is surely going to drown. You're not good enough. You wi