These are my sad sick city street blues
My clicking teeth in chaste car blues
My drunk suburbanite paid off fucking in clean sheet wallpaper room blues
These are my words spilt forth
accompanying all the rest unsaid
This is everything I have pent up
that I'm still not letting out
This is my friend is luckier than me
This is everyone I know has it and I don't
This is beauty not across the room
but might as well be
These are all the time I never said or did anything
and never will
This is personal self-loathing that no one wants to rid me of
This is selfishness
This is all the times I cried for her or them or all the others
This is my particular distaste for humanity
This is my love of all things beatiful
(god, is heaven beautiful?)
These are my Eleven-Dollar bills
This is my secret desire to be Dylan or Kerouac in a time when every kid above the poverty line thinks they already are
This is holier-than-thou
These are the half-a-billion girls I've been afraid to smile at
These are my lonely on a blank page chicken-scratch blues
This is the first time.
Reason for writing:
late night imperial, june 24, 1997
Birth sign: Not entered
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Jordan.