Friday, February 27, 2009

97th Volume of Poetry

Returning To My Room
Returning to my room
Am I just returning to my womb
Or preparing for my tomb
Could I die and never live
Could I love and not know how to give

Codependent Social Phobia

I am not dependable
I am not befriendable
I am not amendable
I am just too stressed
By emotions unrepressed
That aren't to be expressed
I need love but am disconnected
Apart from others, I'm not respected
Sitting aloof to the crowd they feel suspected
Alone I feel tension
In crowds I sense pretension
A sense that self is in remission

Twenty Lonely Years
Twenty years old alone every minute of it
Momentary lapses of company leave after a bit
Goodbye always feels so rude
Like charity t'ward me and I'm suppose to have gratitude
If any of them would care
They wouldn't be going anywhere
They would look after me
They would embrace me every moment I was lonely
If their hearts were warm
My confidence they'd reaffirm
But they can't communicate if they're never there
And if they can't communicate they can't care

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