If given a choice.
Would I rather be Mickey Mouse or Donald Duck?
One, who's squeaky?
Or the one that speaks gibberish?
But sounds like he's cursing you out.
I have to think about that.

If given  a choice.
Would I rather be Batman or Superman?
One, that clever.
Or the one that's brave?
Always looking out to save the day.
Sounds like a Mighty Mouse phase.

If given a choice.
Would I like to be president?
Or one of those insane Congressmen?
Well, both say and do things according to their will.
Proving they not representing any of us.

If given a choice.
What would I rather be?
Would I rather be you?
Or simply be me.

It don't take a genius to know.
That by staying inside myself.
I chose to be myself.
Cause I don't need the problems of anyone else.

The most beautiful thing I've ever read-
was a love poem that I found,
hidden between the dusty cupboards of my mother's room,
filled with things that just
"didn't matter"
anymore.

It was flooding with thoughts I waved off as-
"foolish"
with fake plastic vows of love,  
not unlike those crisp, shiny valentine heart rings,
only given to the most attractive every February.

Stories of parting,
from which shone a glossy sparkle like that of a fake glass diamond,
labeled with black numbers as something worth a thousand.
I've always thought that if you were going to leave someone, you should be aloof and cold.
If you make "warm memories", won't the parting just be that much harder?

That sunset that was described as being unrealistically
ethereal,
I tried to see it myself,
even hooking my feet around the cold metal bars of the balcony,
and pretending that I could fly.
But that sunset was fake too, I discovered.
A synonym of those medals that you eagerly await to get, but in the end,
aren't gold,
or silver,
but just a sheet of mocking plastic,
thousands of identical ones of which have been made,
in a factory choking on smog,
thousands of miles away,
in China.

There was always that villain,
who would try to break the lovers apart.
Sometimes,
the villain was described as, "dark", and "Irresistible".
I was puzzled by that fact,
mulling obsessively over the idea,
Why didn't the protagonist get with the villain in the end?

I was undeniably jealous, of the heroine,
who seemed to draw everyone to her with a warm light,
that I didn't seem to have, no matter how hard I tried.
She was a perfect damsel in distress,
waiting for her partner, who would always,
always,
without fail, come to save her from danger and the unknown.
They were both risking everything for what they loved.

"Stereotypical love poem,"
I scoff,
willing myself to throw that piece of paper away with the trash,
But-
to this day, the most beautiful thing I have read,
is that stereotypical love poem,
now tucked between two bookshelves,
which are full of things, that
"matter"
now.

music is my escape.
for my thoughts to feel wanted,
to push through the barrier,
that needs to be broken.
for the rush of words,
to suffocate my mind,
to determine the mood.
happy or sad,
excited or angry,
what's it going to be?
to bump me up,
or break me down,
press the button,
and we'll find out.

Goodbye
I'll miss you, friends.
Goodbye
I'll miss you, computers.
Goodbye
I'll miss you, Hello Poetry.
Goodbye*
I'll miss you all. Every last one of you.

We're not soulmates
I'm pretty sure.
Not meant to be
Not meant to hold
Not meant to love each other.
But that can't stop me from dreaming
Of dancing with you
To Ray Lamontagne songs in the moonlight
And growing old with your hand in mind.
We're not soulmates,
I'm pretty sure,
But that won't stop me from loving you
With everything I am.