Yeah, you read it correctly.
I’m only saying what other people are thinking.
Of what others are feeling.
What lies within all of us.
What we are afraid to let out.
What’s the worst that could happen?
I’m like the rest of you.
I’m the coward that pretends to be appalled,
Secretly marveling at the tales being spun.
Does that make me a deviant?
Tu pourrais être rude c’est ce que je veux
Look at me.
An absolute mess because of my thoughts centering you.
My friends tell me I’m crazy about this dream I once had.
They all laugh and mock till my foolish heart bleeds,
For the love it truly needs.
I dreamt of a man,
who took my hand,
and told me I needn’t do much,
just get used to his touch.
How could I?
It was all elusive to me.
you see, love never came to me.
How could I just be?
Yet he whispered in my ear,
told me things that made me shiver,
that promised to deliver.
It felt so real that to this day,
I sit here waiting,
for my dream man.
Sunset is near,
My heart is full and clear.
My muse so suave and attentive,
The definition of cavalier.
My muse and I,
Filled with endless cheer.
“One of the greatest discoveries a man makes, one of his great surprises, is to find he can do what he was afraid he couldn’t do.” -Henry Ford
This morning has been nerve-wracking and exciting at the same time. The entire self-publishing process seems to have come to an end for my first book. It releases on Friday on Kobo, Barnes and Noble.com, and Amazon. Everyone who needs to be notified already has, and now here comes the stressed-out part:
One would never guess that waiting could cause anxiety. But it can. When you’ve done all you can, poured your heart and soul into something you treasure, the only thing you can do is wait. Some people will love it, others will hate it, but the only way to truly know is to wait. Still, I commend everyone who has walked before me. Everyone who has taken a chance on their dreams and did what others thought was impossible.
I love you all,
I woke up beside myself.
I took the news and let it destroy itself.
I took the pain,
And spent it on Balmain.
You were about to speak,
I didn’t want to feel weak.
“You gon have to do more than just (say it)
You gon have to do less when you (do it)”
Just give me time,
I’ll be there if you co-sign.
Let me take what’s mine.
Even though you didn’t consider my countless dimes.
It’s not looking too well.
I’m not interested in buying what you sell.
You’ve lost your appeal.
That’s the only thing that has become real.
There’s a change taking place.
And it’s starting within me.
I fear the light,
I escape the sun,
I balk at the goodness in people.
My optimism lies in the lies of others,
You are my savior.
You chase away the demons,
I sometimes see in myself.
There’s a discord,
between me and reality.
I’m living but I’m really not.
I’m breathing, but it’s artificial.
I keep feeling stuck,
But I have no idea on who to call.
I’m having another sleepless night
There’s a war raging within me.
I keep fighting the deep abyss,
I keep fighting gravity.
I keep soldiering on.
I keep walking on.
I’ve got this new joy,
I can’t describe.
And it’s not based on someone.
No one paid for it.
No one showed me additional affection.
There was no conditional love offered.
It feels weird.
Being happy because of me.
Have you ever been here?
I’m a novice,
Tell me you can hear me clear.
This poem was inspired by one of my favorite authors Jane Austen.
“The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.” -Jane Austen
I don’t want love.
Not right now.
People think I’m crazy for saying this.
At least I’m honest.
I’ve never lied to my fellow reader,
Only aspired to be a leader.
I’ve never been one for dramatics,
So I won’t pull the script from life’s attic.
I’ve seen no good examples of what people call love.
How can I trust something I barely know exists?
I’ve seen people together,
Because of duty,
Because of religion,
Because of children,
Because of comfortability,
Because, because, because.
Everyone is always talking about love.
Do you enjoy a good novel?
Do you like to read?
Do you even read?
Do you enjoy expressing your feelings through the liberating art of prose?
Where is your sense of adventure?
What is your definition of life?
Do any of you ever have these thoughts from time to time?
Or are we all destined to the doom that is “matrimony?”