I Count The Cars -------------------------------------------
I’m counting the cars as they pass me by
Eight hundred and forty seven to be exact
And now I’ve moved on to the faces
But there’s too many to keep track
And sometimes I want to know
All the stories that these people have to tell
But other days I’m just awe struck
On my own story and my own mental health
Who would have thought?
Someone who rested on such solid ground
Could be so uplifted
And be imprisoned in some sort of living hell
I’ve learned never to ask questions
And to never talk out of turn
His fists are unpredictable
And my thoughts aren’t comparable to this burn
Maybe one day
I will never look back
Lock my door one night
And plant pillows in a silhouette
Of my eager body
Yearning for something better…maybe the best
But I will shoot low
Like a warm room
Maybe even a warm bed
Because high set dreams unconquered
Hurt worse than that the down to earth kind.
You could call me that down to earth kind.
Confusing... but it's honest poetry, and I like it. You also used tangible objects as artifacts of your soul, which is also something I love. A bit random, but otherwise good. Nice job.
I think it had some grammar errors. The poem talked about a lot of different things, which sort of confused me. At the begining I thought you were talking about moving on. Then, I thought you were talking about yourself. And it ended up being about shooting low. I don't really get how all the subjects interweaved. But I loved your word usage. Hey, could you tell me what the poem's really supposed to be about cause I'm probably REALLY off.
Submission Name: I Count The Cars
