Email Poem

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Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
You know, I could be Kipling
channel a fancy humoring tale
have all of you begging of lyrics more gracious
such as this, a mystic masterpiece made for this generation
Come on, dabble me with praise
put a paint brush upon me and color me into a canvas
a canvas of royalty, a canvas of prestige
a canvas to make even Queen Elizabeth green with envy
just be sure to make me grey cause I'm a liar today
I'm just me, I don't want to be some cheap imitation 
I just want to be me
don't mind my comedic twist at making this a one man show
I'm just venting frustrations no one cares to know
Try as I can, try as I might
I will not set up this rhyme tonight
To tear down this whole work I only constructed minutes before
I'm tempted to
it's not my best, it makes no sense
I can do better, I can do better
just give me a chance
to tear apart the blank pages in my mind
with scattered thoughts scrawled upon the edges
I'm so very tempted
they mirror nothing, nothing at all
profanity has more creativity in its uses
than I have in my own voice
except naming every line from songs I heard last Halloween
and there goes one now
My love for Blue October exudes me
my muse has eluded me
I'd say her name but she's not the same
the way we talk, the way we connect
dead silent
she's an entire universe
and I, once Pluto, so far from the sun
once a planet, now mistaken for a moon too far away from my orbit
I could build a rocket ship back to her dimension
but that would take eons, millenniums in theory
though I only have years at best
before she pursues the start of her dreams
in a distant country
across the universe far away from me
Just like all the rest...
just
like 
all
the 
rest...
I find myself staring at my hands
wishing they were smaller
for my hands are too big, catching too many people when they fall
though I curse myself for having such short arms
to not be able to hold on long enough
to everyone I've caught
like I'm on a crashing plane, nose diving into the ocean
and to make a glorious escape
all my pink dominoes release their parachutes as they jump
but I'm not quick enough to see
the only parachute left on this flight
was never meant for me
Why is it always me
am I cursed, am I...am I...
Why 
is 
it 
my 
heart
that 
always
commits 
the
folly?
to fall for a garden with too much water
to fall for a garden over-bloomed
a rose by any other name would sound just as sweet
but roses have thorns with aromas that can wound
so why now do I choose to lay in a garden of pink and discomforts..
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