Happily discontent, that I am, that I be
now future
happy discontent
achievable out of reach
joie de vivre bags of regrets
what I am now what I could be
love the journey are we there yet?
live in the present dream of becoming
I'm truly self made I'm reactionary, dependent
let it be, let it be, now endless mindful reflection
I’m restless, but at peace unable to sleep, daydream
I’m thankful for many things when will this nightmare end?
nothing is perfect, fully satisfies quest for perfection ruins the journey
life is an ever evolving process hit or miss, sink or swim, stuns growth
a chest full of good things in life a pile of things underachieved, undone
thankful for what I’ve got so far I want more, but I'm burdened by failures
acceptance without complacency resentful, jealous of what others have
accept that creativity makes mistakes counting failures, clutters & confounds
Categories:
underachieved, angst, anxiety, nostalgia,
Form: Free verse
So I write...
So I write...
even in this world despite my meaningless less expressive self...I write.
Declined in hysterical, faultlessness...I write
to fulfill plentiful emptiness's.
What successes will my manuscripted-selfless-self achieve?
My pages written solemnly based on critical theologies,
these
I gotta have it technologies, burnt bridges crossed, or
The Lord Jesus crucified;
that which I truly believe.
I write...
particularly, like birds sing happily - freely, underachieved
Yet pronouncing” I'm flexing my wings".
As a confident wind blows
it's own flow throughout bureaus of grasses.
Alike Mrs. Mother Earth allowing her seasons be passive.
I write...
For being intrigued by what might,
happen,
as an eye, leads the soul, or a heart searching,
abuses be buried though grasping.
Across any script denoted by way,
of my poetic pen tip.
I write...
Perhaps, one of many frivolous scripts,
possess seeded enunciation's
of spiritual worth
as words read would be basis
for a total rebirth,
...so I'll write.
I have more to contribute.
Written July 22nd, 2006
Categories:
underachieved, celebration, dedication, poetry, words,
Form: ABC
I speak my soul still nobody hears me
Its like I recite for no reason my words have no cause
I sit here and scream out my soul
Not looking for applause
Just wanting to be recognized
I constantly scream but it all goes unheard
Like my voice has no sound
And theirs no meaning to my words
Not at all, no one, nobody hears me
But I know they can see me…. See within vision
Or maybe they hear me loud and clearly
It’s just that they do not listen
Either I’m overreacting or I’m overlooked
Underachieved or underestimated
Which one is the result of my cries having silent replies?
Whatever it is I just hate it
But the lack of acknowledgement
Has yet to halt me from ceasing my fate
Don’t do it for the name or not in vein
Just do it for people to relate
Maybe it may be that I’m not taken seriously
But I am so serious I breathe poetry through my ribs
And for those who at all do not know
I’ll tell you what it is
It’s just expressions of my feelings
Something I was just born to do
But what am I?
I am just NOBODY to you
Categories:
underachieved, on writing and words,
Form: Rhyme
So I write...
Even in this world despite my meaningless less expressive self...
I write.
Declined in hysterical, faultlessness...
I write to refill plentiful emptiness's.
Now what successes
will my manuscripted- selfless-self achieve?
Pages written solemnly based on critical theologies,
the "I gotta have it technologies",
burnt bridges I crossed, and Jesus crucified;
that which I truly believe.
Particularly like birds sing happily-freely,
yet underachieved.
Yet pronouncing” I am stretching wings".
As a confident wind blows It's own flow
throughout bureaus of grasses.
Alike, Mrs. Mother Earth allowing her seasons be passive.
I write,
Being intrigued by what might,
happen.
As an eye, leading the soul,
a heart searching, buryied abuses,
grasping.
Across a script denoted by way,
of a poets pen tip.
Perhaps this frivolous script,
possess seeded enunciation's
congested with spiritual worth
So words read here;
be basis for a total rebirth.
...so I'll write.
Categories:
underachieved, hope, social,
Form: I do not know?