My Book
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Description:
Had an idea that sprang from recalling some of my favorite books growing up and slowly realizing there were a lot of things I missed out on.
My Book
Remember that time The time that I scored the winning goal People reaching out to just touch my hand To touch my soul To share that crystal moment of greatness To tell about again and again how it changed me Changed us Yeah, I don't remember it either. I don't have childhood memories Just stories These stories aren't mine They're from Schwartz and R.L. Stein I want to tell you about me Not Ponyboy or Maniac McGee Or the countless books that I lived in Breathed on Came to know better than friends I didn't read I escaped I ran from love so suffocating it made me sick Or told me I was most of the time I hid from love that didn't know the right words Of how to be a better man Just told me "Yes I can" But never showed me how I didn't want love that was hand-me-downs Given because we were kin Caine loved Abel and it didn't stop that sin Stories were sold to me Hooked on the hypeline that I could be anyone I bet my folks never saw 'me' coming Dogged down by their dreams of my destiny Escape became my reality Books Games Excuses... Read between the lines These aren't words to say this was their fault Its not God, fate, or a grand plan This is from running away Tossing the script of choices made for me Choices that might have been better This from still being unsure what it means To grow up My room is still buried in books I am still buried by books Word-vomiting academic theories In the voices of bones and dried ink Trying to get others to think That I'm deeper than a book spine When I don't know my own voice Don't know how I got to be here I have read so many stories Even written a few of my own The only story never told The only song I've never sung Is the one that will tell me Who I am supposed to be |
Submitted on 2014-12-02 19:32:20 Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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| This had great flow and rhythm of beat poetry. The words spewing forth with childish abandon only to be reigned in by by your adult self looking back. I haven'd decided if there was a script and if I got it right or not. I too bury myself in books--I think most writers do. Passion is what it's about. When you write or read, do you do it with passion, in full technicolor scenes with voices? The voice of choices past is one of the least profitable for the soul; it's mephistophelian in nature. Don't worry and just BE with Passion! | Posted on 2014-12-19 00:00:00 | by jaycee | [ Reply to This ] | |
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