Note

This is for everyone who knows me personally and reads this (hopefully close to no one). i read one of my poems out my darling lil sis and her first response was that "you scare me", when asked for further explantion she mumbled, "in a worrying way". In case, lord forbid, any of you get that notion in your head, kindly clear them. Most of my poems were written due circumstances which remedied themselves. I'm fine, not neurotic or psychotic or depressed or any combination of the three... so just in case. If you weren't the least bit concerned, thank you, seriously.

Contd...

Part 2:

A set of blue illusions

dance around my eyes

I cut through them, slashing through water

I'm too old for illusions

A watch once running, but now lies aside

broken, thrown in anger, it mocked too much

A list of reasons to be handed over

So as to not hear them if they dare be repeated

Ears deaf to the noise around

Eyes blind to the brilliant scenery

The heart near dead to love

yet the spine stands straight,

now without protest.

Pride is not a thing to be trifled with

Nor for that matter is a friendship

But someone, somewhere, enjoys me at their beck and call

and I'm too old to follow

I'm too old to believe in dreams of knights in shining armor

I'm too old to believe in relationships that stand every test

I'm too old to wait in soltitude for a person who will not come.

Poem: The Last Puzzle Piece

For a while I was convinced,

that the only piece that I was missing ,

in my jigsaw puzzle of a life,

was you.

And once you returned,

I'd be complete again.

Only, it seems like you're the lost piece

of an unknown puzzle.

A me , that somewhere

between screaming and crying,

between starvation and ice-cream,

between rock and blues,

got left behind.

And the me thats left

doesn't require that last piece,

oh-so-desperately.

She is not as innocent,

not as naive,

not as unselfish,

as the previous one.

She's put up the walls again.

She prefers people that like her.

She still worries frantically,

but just not for you.

And your return,

though it was needed,

comes with an anti-climax of sorts.

I've learned to live.

I've learned to survive.

I've superglued my heart together.

So now what do I do with your piece?