In A New Light

I don't like my old posts. They sound whiney and pathetic. I wish they weren't there. I wish people coudln't see how exceedingly melodramtic I am in my self-expression. Indeed, I've come to quite strongly dislike such writings. I think that people such as myself will often think that their writings are better because of the descriptions. Well, let me tell you something: Charlotte Bronte was descriptive. John Steinbeck was descriptive. Shakespeare was descriptive. What I have written is verbose and silly.

To be quite honest, I never realized how silly I sounded until I heard other people read similar writings. I think we are so caught up in trying to make some profound statement that we forget the point of writing. This is a lesson I have learned and even still must continue to learn. I would advise that you take the time to learn it as well.

Now that's settled, I've written a couple poems. Enjoy.

Rodeo Drive
I like your words.
They look so pretty, sitting soft and sweet within the glass display.
The saleswoman beckons me inside,
Inviting me to try them on.
They feel so comfortable,
Loving, warm and soft.
Somehow I knew they would.
But then I look in the mirror and see they don’t quite fit,
And I am reminded that I can’t afford them anyway.

Wishful Thinking
She wishes he knew.
God, she wishes he knew.
When he walked into town,
A storm began to brew.
She liked his eyes, his lips, his spark.
Liked his smile,
And the sound of his heart.
But the storm waits for none.
Away he was blown.
Now she misses the sun,
And God, she wishes he knew.
Oh, how she wishes he knew.