If you glance at the top of my blog page you will see ” SHORT STORIES, POEMS, and misc. junk”. So far I’ve only really given you more misc. junk and less art made by yours truly, so I guess it is time for the…
Vulnerability Hour 🎉🎉🎉
To preface this whole sharing of my poem, I must insist that I am not a career type poet. I don’t regularly sit beside a tree contemplating how to colorfully describe the sunny day nor I am a methodical and tortured soul trying to paint a gloomy feeling using iambic pentameter. I don’t read poems by the late greats nor the rising stars, I can barely remind myself to read the biography of my favorite president. I am, however, a writer and writers must at least try poetry because for me poetry is just a minimalist version of a story. Stories are a recount of people’s feelings and poems are those feelings distilled to its very essence — its soul.
So prepare your Green Day records and black eyeliner, people, because this poem has a bit of a sad vibe going on. Here we go.
I freeze my bridges
Bridge May Ice, Written by me around April-ish
Make the slippery
Make them dangerous
Make them unapproachable
It feels lonely
Having my bridge be desolate
Having your bridge be treated as dangerous
Scorching heat give easier way
But nobody wants to cross
Because now I’m just a
Very Ill-maintained
Very boring
Very sad
Formerly iced bridge
Now only ghosts inhabit my bridge
They silently whisper around the pillars
They gently stroke my ropes
Softly caress the grass growing in my pavement
Kind ghosts
Neglectful ghosts
I miss them
Crimson leaves now fall into the cold water with a ripple
My weeds and grass are drying
Dying
Everything is getting colder
So beware, the sign in front says
Bridge May Ice
also notice the first three paragraphs looks like a suspended bridge heeheeheeee~ thanks Red Wheel Barrow for the idea
Now I won’t be explaining the nuances of the poems; I’m the really chill English teacher that wants you to gather your own meaning of the text, only using biographical information as a supplement (for those who don’t believe in killing the author). The next paragraph I’m gonna give you some of that biographical background about my own life leading up to that poem, so if you want to shoot me and drag my rotting corpse away from my work then skip the next paragraph.
This poem I wrote in a very wistful sort of mood. See I’ve moved from one state to another: with a broken heart over a breakup, losing all of my co-worker friends in real life (foolishly not keeping up with them over insecure fears) and losing online friendships over changes in personality that comes from me maturing past mean spirited jokes and opinions. It made me reflect on how my childhood I was a very introverted and lone wolf type of boy. I was literally the kid sitting in the parking lot listening on his MP3 player and waiting for recess to be over. Although I wasn’t completely alone for most of my school days, I never really kept a friend for more than 5 years, which is a shame and a terrible habit on my part. I’ve spent all my current life burning bridges, intentionally or not, because of a fear of losing people.
Maybe in a few years time I will look on this poem and wince at the sheer whiny angst and scoff at the audacity of me writing a weepy poem with such poor craftsmanship, harumph! For now, though, I am proud of it; proud enough to share it with people I might never even meet. Even if you or I think my poem is a waste of valuable server space then who cares, at least past me had the courage to express himself. The tragedy of human nature is that we often want to express ourselves, even our most ugliest sad selves, but are too afraid to take that action. But I say phooey, life is too short to care for such trivialities — let you be you
And in the most masterful, artisan, purple prose way I can state this: Fuck the haters.
Mike's Curio Shoppe 
