Apparently this is thing, posting random snippets of your past in a “look how far I’ve come” tribute of sorts. Me, still waiting after all these years for the “cool kids” to accept me, have decided to join in. One, to be hip (or dope or supes or whatever people are saying nowadays), but also to remind myself that I really have come a long way and that me and the cool kids weren’t friends for a reason.
A number of people in my life have told me I don’t give myself credit for…well anything. I’m trying to change that, trying to appreciate who I am now by reflecting on where I was and where I could have ended up.
Today, the thing that I want to appreciate is my writing skills. I’m always so hard on myself about my writing, despite people telling me that some of my stuff is good, and often, its easy for me to believe that I have made no progress as a writer.
Well. this poem, plucked from an old blog I had almost ten years ago, forces me to believe otherwise.
Cubic Ziconine (Note, the misspelling in the title…bodes well for a great poem, right?)
The reasons for me are compared to the seasons
Constantly moving in circles,
Continuous undying circles. (So far, so good…a little intense, but you gotta draw the audience in…)
The only thing to ground me is the thought of lost memories (if the memories are lost…how can they ground me?)
Crucify my mind, (well…that’s a bit extreme)
Make me forget the words to this song, (Kay)
Causing me to float into space among the toxic gases. (seems weird…but maybe this poem is supposed to be post nuclear war…)
The meanings for me are intertwined with lies, (damn lies, messing with my reasoning)
Fairy tales weaved by a sadistic poet (poets write…poems…)
Using lulling tunes to pacify my corrupted soul. (So am I being pacified by fairy tales or lullabies?)
Poison me my dear,
Give me ur (adding the “y” and the “r” would have ruined the authenticity of this poem) lethal arsenic from sweet nectar,(at least the poison tastes good…)
Killing me softly with fatal hands. (If you’re killing me…is that not fatal?)
My youth prohibits expansion from this hollow form, (Okay…I guess I’m a turtle…)
The shell slowly cracking exposing my underbelly, (That’s not good…)
Revealing all of me, (That was one weak ass shell)
Parts to be hidden for a lifetime.
Read me from cover to cover, (Ahhh, so I’m a book now…completely forgot about my brief stint as a transformer)
Allow my body to breath technicolor fumes, (and then promptly pass out from toxic poisoning)
Cover it with scattered crystal dreams.
I’m unglued, piece me together with words of ectasy, (another wonderful misspelling)
Sweet reminiscing of sorrowful melodies (Man, I was REALLY into lullabies…)
Created from my self-indulgent mind. (The definition of this poem.)
Reading this forced me to realize that I have come SO far as a writer and have so much more talent than I’m ever willing to give myself credit for.
It also reminded me that I never, ever, EVER want to be 15 again.