My life is a series of well-meaning texts,
Written with a different connotation.
There are very few things that are real anymore,
iPhones aren’t real, film cameras are.
Good music is real,
But bad music more so.
Celebrities, politicians, propaganda, and Instagram are not,
Along with people who exclusively walk around with headphones in.
Art is real, but sadly dead.
Same with all the great poets.
I always get out my notebook and pen,
Never write in my notes app.
Although, all the good poems have already been written,
By someone other than me.
I could say anything in a poem,
It could be the best thing ever written.
And no one would read it,
It could say:
“I never thought about growing old, until I thought about you.”
Or,
“I’ll give you one more chance
Until the word ‘one’ loses all meaning.”
And no one would read it.
So, I sprinkle in my lines,
(And sometimes I plagiarize)
Into conversations.
Lines like: “It ends or it doesn’t.”
Or,
“The whole day is mine / temporarily, / anyhow.”
And I’ve never been called out,
They’re only partially listening,
Music blasting in their ears.
Someone more educated than me once said,
“We are the universe experiencing itself.”
But if that’s the case,
I hate to disappoint,
Cause I’m sure the universe had better things to do,
Then buy a coke from the vending machine for the 5th night in a row.
Why is it I do my best work,
While procrastinating my important work.
I have an essay to write,
But schoolwork isn’t real,
My poems are.
Although the one thing they have in common is my inability to create and original thought.
There are only so many interpretations of Shakespeare’s sonnets,
And there aren’t any classics being written anymore.
These lines are probably all words I read on the internet,
And my brain convinced me they’re my own.
I try to have meaningful conversations,
But it’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
And I,
That pin.
Falling to my knees,
Begging you to listen.
Metaphors are real,
But so overused.
Let sleeping dogs lie,
And to my face,
Tell me you love me,
With a smile on yours.
You don’t dance because you can hear the music,
You dance because you were born to.
That’s real.
I was born to be real,
Although it’s been really hard to
Lately.