Old Poem, Written Age 19

Rachel doesn’t notice me,
She likes this other guy.
I guess it’s not surprising
I can see the reason why:

He’s kind of cool and talented.
So it cannot be helped:
And hell, I like him better
Than I think I like
Myself

Old Poem, Age 22

[This poem has been edited, and modified from it’s original version. Let’s say “to fit your screen”. – Owen]


If I could take this universe

And put it in a jar,

I’d save this sky for you to see

Whenever I am far

 

Away, across the galaxy,

Where I must roam to live:

This sky is yours; I give it you –

It’s all I have

 

To give

Old Poem, Written Age 15

I have these
Fugitive visions

They come and go like
Dappled sunlight through windblown leaves

I see you in them
I seem us in them

But the fantasy that burns within me
Burns out

Before I ever

Get a chance

To see your face

The Lies I Have

The lies I have are full of dreams,

The goals I have are very far;

I cannot help the way I think,

You cannot help the way you are

 

But as the crocus floats in bloom,

You soar out where the sun meets sky;

And if I stare too long at you

My heart goes blind, and so do I

Old Poem, Written Age 17 (Unedited)

I can’t believe I’m here, and that you’re here.

You’re far too beautiful for me, I fear —

You radiance — it melts my very heart;

Which starts to freeze whenever we’re apart.

 

I’ll never, ever, ever show you this:

The way I felt enslaved with just one kiss.

The way I want to touch you, every day —

I never knew that I could feel this way.

 

But this all just sounds desperate, I know —

And so, these words are ones I’ll never show.

I’ll wait a while before next time I call —

And hope you never see how bad I fall.

Old Poem, Written Age 36

This dating thing is very strange
It’s changed from what it was:
I seem to be more popular.
Perhaps that is because

I have a job now, and a child.
It’s nothing that I’ve said:
I don’t think I’m more interesting
But they’re more
Interested

Old Poem, Written Age 23

Massages are better than sex
Because
I can pay for a massage without
Ending up in prison
Or married
Or both

But I can’t afford a massage
What I can afford
Is a beer
Six, to be exact
So, they are accompanying me home

Where they will do their best
To massage my conscience