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Ryan Villena Poem
“asdf.
asdfg.
asdfghjkl;.”
It makes no difference.
“Asdf.
Asdfg, hjkl;.
asdfghjkl;;lkjhgfdsa.”
It’s not working.
“Asdfg,
Asdfgh, ghjkl;,
asdfghjkl;;lkjgfdsaasdfghjkl;;lkjhgfdsa.”
Come on!
“Asdfgh,
Asdfghjkl;, ;lkjhgfdsa!
asdfghjkl;;lkjhgfdsaasdfghjkl;;lkjhgfdsaasdfghjkl;;lkjhgfdsaasdfghjkl;;lkjhgfdsa!”
It’s not working!
“Why won’t you listen to me?!”
It’s done.
It’s over.
I blew it.
Copyright © Ryan Villena | Year Posted 2012
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Ryan Villena Poem
Then and now,
my favorite thing to do
has always been
looking through windows,
looking in boxes.
I can still recall
that day.
Ten years old,
my first Pokémon.
My friends were my Pokémon,
my emotions were calculated through damage multipliers.
It was the life.
Now, my old friends gather
dust
under my bed,
yet do not age.
But I have aged so much.
Stuck with humans present, I cry for those digital friends,
whom I could love without judgment,
whose overall reliability was a tangible number
in that Game Boy window,
where the only drama I felt
came in pixilated, perfectly perpendicular text boxes.
Humans are so flawed,
but not those Pocket Monsters,
whose margins of error were always measured
in a perfectly percentaged probability.
I know amazing people
who volunteer, serve, love.
they are deluded, imperfect.
I had a creature with low power, basic moves, and that always lost.
but It
was
perfection.
Copyright © Ryan Villena | Year Posted 2012
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Ryan Villena Poem
It’s pretty cold.
It’s freezing.
Raining drops freeze before they slam the ground,
but when they meet, there are showers of glitter.
Breaths are pale-white when they touch the chilled air,
but they are but light in this dark world of rest.
Fingers freeze when they leave their gloves and sanctuaries,
but they tingle with renewed warmth when they meet yours.
Lips turn brittle when choked by that deathly air,
but are brought to life again when they touch yours.
It’s pretty cold.
It’s freezing.
Your touch gives me chills,
and I am the warmest man in the world.
Copyright © Ryan Villena | Year Posted 2012
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Ryan Villena Poem
okay. keep doing that.
keep on doing what you do.
it’s not like I care.
it’s not like you’re slapping me in the face, or anything
it’s not like every time you’re high off of him, you shove me deeper into dirt
it’s not like I was only a stepladder to your own selfish euphoria
and it’s not like you forgot once you were at the top
it’s not as if my life has ended.
of course not.
because you know that i, the sensitive, careful boy, am too tough for heartbreak.
keep going
Copyright © Ryan Villena | Year Posted 2012
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Details |
Ryan Villena Poem
I am gum.
.
.
.
.
Chew all you want
I will never be digested
never yield.
.
.
.
.
stop trying. to understand. to digest.
.
.
.
.
you’re making me lose my flavor.
Copyright © Ryan Villena | Year Posted 2012
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