[insert title here]

i wanted to sit down and write a poem,
about love, and hope and beauty.
so that's what i set my mind to.
but every word that came out,
it seems, was only full of bite and pain.
no rhymes, no meter, could bend to.
i thought about green mountains,
blue rivers that run accross deserts.
about the time i stuck french-fries up my nose.
remembered orphan's hugs and smiles.
still, no poem, no good, came out.
i tried to remember better days;
when i didn't worry so much about myself.
to a time when i didn't bother,
or stoop, to fit some sort of picture,
that society had made.
and i almost tricked myself to believe,
that too -- that i was once 'okay'.
until i ran headlong into a wall.
the wall of my own density,
the weight defying gravity,
filled with selfish intensity,
marked by human depravity.
and i didn't want to write any more,
not one more stupid poem.
about how good things'd gone today,
or about ways i'd made a change and difference.
i wanted to crawl under a rock,
to hide like a little kid.
but then i realized, that this-
predicament i find myself in,
this -- means that i already did.