Paris doesn’t know you
June 9, 2009
by me
Young with weight & dumping
dirt in soapboxes
Paris doesn’t know you
like the king in plays glancing your way.
Though you know only one
no translation’s needed and
your overused, frail, bruising body
knows manipulation like
kids on swings singing Simple Man
before narcolepsy takes them away.
Young with weight & dumping
dirt in soapboxes
Paris doesn’t know you.
I need to create to survive. Life has the unbelievable ability to suck itself from you, drain you, crush you, numb you. Sometimes it's hard to remember the pretty things, because it's all moving too fast too much of the time. I stop, I photograph, I write, I remember. Sometimes this prevents me from actually living in the moment and encourages my permanent residency in the past - but it's the only way I've found to capture, to remember, to make it all worthwhile.
hey its me again.
im new to this, and I dont really know how to get my poetry out there.
And hey come check out some of my stuff, I need some people to critic it
very powerful, and the hidden meanings are amazing.