I listen to Neil Hilborn on Spotify
Because I like to feel like a self-entitled hipster
But can’t afford a record player.
The breathy shouts of slam poets
Sound a lot like falling in love-
If love was a sledgehammer
Smashing repeatedly into my sternum.
I’m attracted to emotional self-mutilation.
What teenage poet isn’t?
After all, happy people don’t write good poetry.
Happy people write sappy bull about
“Eyes like summer storms”
And call it art.
Depressed poets write about dead people
And the boy who swore he loved me when I was fifteen
And all the stars I’ve felt blink out inside of me.
Poetry is to suicide
What nicotine gum is to cigarettes:
It never quite dulls the craving,
And I’m still not allowed to indulge at work.
Categories:
hilborn, 12th grade, analogy, angst,
Form: Free verse
Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin.
I see myself crushed by an endless succession of cars, and she was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on. I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she holds
her steering wheel, how she turns shower knobs like she's opening a safe,
how she blows out candles-
blows out candles-
blows out candles-
blows out candles-
blows out candles-
blows out candles-
blows out-
Now, I just think about who else is kissing her.
I can't breathe because he only kisses her once, he doesn't care if it's perfect.
I want her back so bad.
I leave the door unlocked.
I leave the lights on.
*Not my poem in any way, it's just a poem I really love*
I saw it on YouTube performed by Neil Hilborn.
Categories:
hilborn, loss, love,
Form: Blank verse