Guilty. Conscious. | Teen Ink

Guilty. Conscious.

January 4, 2012
By JoshMac PLATINUM, Rifle, Colorado
JoshMac PLATINUM, Rifle, Colorado
29 articles 0 photos 11 comments

But it's nothing unheard
It's nothing undeserved
It's nothing you haven't been through first

Before there were three
To me there was one
I guess some things never change
But still something seem so strange
All alone
Who breaks?

Seeing your words
Is like hearing your voice
But a voice meant for scolding
Not my first choice

If there's a cliche
In every line I write
Then perhaps, all along
The poets were right

If I can be called that
It's more than I call myself
You once did agree
But once, you loved me

The relevance there
Isn't easy to spot
But see, I still care
Did you mean it or not?

Four lines long
A B, A B
The same tired rhythm
Still means little to me

Reams of poetry
That I'll never share
Words that I'll want to
But you'll never care

I search for excuses
I think hard for lies
I want to show you
But I don't know why

Or perhaps I do
Yes, I think that it's true
I hope that remembrance
Remembers feelings in you

Half-hearted attempts
At things I don't want to know
I'm afraid of the answer
Yet, I pester you so

You and him?
Not me and you.
The first may be
The second is true.

I've always liked
Using others' words
Because I always found it so hard to use my own

The lines of beauty
Woven in between
Lines of sorrow
Stand out
Though dim hope
Tends not to

In other songs
Other poems
Books, words, and lyrics
Things that I've felt
Tell me that I'm not alone
In being alone

While solitude makes for poor company
I find myself growing used to him
I'm not the person I want to be
Yet no matter what, I'm good enough for him

Emily wrote
Of hope leaving fast
Tennyson wrote
Of half-sickness and death
Both understood
What it means
To be alive

Catherine and Heathcliff
Linton and she
His own actions were his downfall
Yet their tragedy was our pleasure
Their agony, ecstasy to me
Perhaps you've met them?
Perhaps they are we

We who once were
But no longer.
Perfection and beauty, tarnished
A perfect beach
Without its mermaid

Tuomas said
To feel lonely
And to feel content
At the same time
Is a rare kind of happiness

But perhaps happiness
Means different things
To one who lost it
And one who never knew.

The author's comments:
Written as a stream of conscious, and somehow I lost the beginning. Rather than write something new and compromise the integrity of the poem, I just went with what was left.

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