you always want the one you don't have.
and the one that you do have is always there.
and the one you don't disappears as fast
as the long island railroad going past
and you wanna believe that everything
happens for a reason, like the myth of
demeter and her daughter with the seasons
but you just can't seem to get things right
no matter how hard you try, sometimes you
wonder if you'll even survive. and your friends
start to change but then you think to yourself " maybe it's me"
your falling far away from them like the leaves from the trees
in autumn. and the last time you saw them they
were hounding you bout your new style or new love
and sometimes you look to the sky up above and
hope you're a reincarnation of someone who was
so fantastic. but when you look down, you spit
on the ground cause you know that the world is plastic.
and at one time it wasn't and you're nostalgic of those
times even though you weren't born yet and to you
they only exist in ancient genius' rhymes.
like how you feel old poets are your only friends sometimes
and all you wanna do is cry but your tears don't form
you must have ran out of them during your last soul shattering storm
and then in comes someone who convinces you he's warm
but he's just the same, as him, as you as them
you learned to tell peoples motives by looking into
their dilated pupils. and it's always loop-holes and mouthfuls of
manipulated morons trying to kill the high your on.
and everyone starts turning into the big bad wolf, you're so sick
and you wish you listened to your mama when she told you
to build that house made of bricks, but now his breath flown you
and your drifting in the mix. and you fall and land on your head
and your clothes are shred. and you see a little cute froggy
but turns out your misled and then he steals the only thing you have left.
and you can't scream theft! cause you're so deep in those woods
and you'd do anything you could for things to change
because you're so fed up and deranged
with always being the saddest girl
and sometimes you wanna say "i hate the world"
but what you don't realize yet that these times, these places,
and faces, hover over every single page you write
and sometimes they kill you like an alligator bite
but you should takes these ideas and tie em to a kite
and let the clouds carry them so you're soul and the sky can reunite
you're words will marry the atmosphere, like when the day marries the night
when the sky turns orange.
- Marilyn Metzger
January 4th 2012
