I think I'll shut it down.
It's nice
And simple
And classic
But it's not necessary anymore.
If I'm here,
I don't need to be there.
Yes?
And here, maybe
There might be some benefits
Whereas there I'm hiding by myself.
From myself?
Who knows.
Who cares.

I am not deep like the rest of them.  
I have no style
No beautiful phrases
About love
And life
And chicken.
All I have are my surroundings
And how they make me feel.
I feel hungry.
I feel tired.
I feel not as good as you.

You don't even realize what you say.
It makes me sad.
Not because of your words
But the idea behind them.
They convey that you have never
Had to sit alone in a herd of students.
They show that you have never
Been surprised that someone wanted to see you
Outside of a forced environment.
That has been my reality
For eight-teen years
And you have no clue what I mean.
How is it that we have had such different experiences?
I'm glad
That you never had to feel
Completely out of place.
Alone.
You've always had a friend or a lover.
I have been alone
For most of my life.
Not just in love
but in general.
For ten years, I had no friends.
For the next five, I had one.
We have had completely different experiences
And I envy you.

It's embarrassing
To never have an ******.
It's shameful
To not enjoy ***.
I crave it, sometimes.
I think of ***
And flesh
And joining
As much as anyone else.
But every time I try
It's just a big pile of ****.
It's horrible to know
That every time my juices get flowing,
There's no point.
In the end, I always feel like a shame to humankind.

I was taught to idolize women
And the female *** in general
From a young age.
I don't think my mom ever realized
That that was what she was doing.
But that's what happened.
And now I do exactly that.
I see beauty and intelligence in women
Easier than I do in men.
In my mind, men are always second best.

Maybe that's why I question my sexuality so much.

I used to dream of Greece.
I guess I still do.
It seemed like such a
Romanticized country.
I envisioned beautiful people
Floating through the streets
Hair curled from the sea
Skin rough from the sun.
Draped in soft fabric
With sexuality oozing through every pore.

I saw beauty
And nature
And freedom in one's skin.

Apparently there's a lot more to it than that.
Bombs tend to ruin it all.

I think too much.
I was thinking
Wondering where I weas going with this whole
"Poetry" shindig.
I was thinking
Maybe when I'm eighty
When I'm dead
When I die
Someone will look through my computer
And see my blog.
Maybe they'll read my poems
Declare my a virtuoso
Claim that I should've been revered in my time
And declare it a shame that I have passed.
They will show them to a publisher
And distribute them worldwide.
I will become a literary Picasso
And live through it.
Those who knew me will mourn with ferocity
Ashamed that they never knew.
I will be loved for an eternity.

In all likelihood, that will never happen.
It is near impossible.
Will I even keep this up that long?
But it's nice to hope.

But I can tell that I'm thinking too much.
I was taught
That poetry should come from the heart
Unfiltered
No thinking.
Just your soul on paper
With a rhythmic beat, if possible.
So not only will I never be even considered
As a poetic woman.
But I am doing this all wrong