Thursday, 8 October 2009

just a poem for the week.

You're everything I'm not.
I'm everything you are.
But you're more.
More to you than to me.

You're everything I was warned about.
You ring a bell of danger.
A warning
That I'll be left
With my heart in the gutter.

But it's the thrill of rebellion,
At least in my mind,
And no fear of injury, or death.
It's a fear of no control, instead.

It's the thrill of speeding over an overpass,
Drifting around corners,
Of losing control on a dirt patch
And finishing 270 degrees from where you were
Just a second ago.

But...... I'm not afraid.
so I don't scream....
I want to go faster.

It's the party that goes on until dawn
The arm around the shoulder,
Claiming me as his.
....Or hers.

It's the smoke that I hate
And the knowing smile that I love
And the taste of your kisses that's indescribable-
That I cannot forget just yet.

It's metal at midnight
And a purple pool table
Shooting pockets by accident
Even when we're meant to be elsewhere.

It's laughter with strangers,
Nostalgia of the past
Dotted with cautionary tales
Of laced brownies.

It's the safety of knowing I'll be caught
If ever I should fall.
It's knowing that I'm someone
Not something.
That I'm accepted as I am.
I've never said those words aloud before,
but you don't even care. they're words of truth.
Its the challenge I hate to play
But the prize is so alluring
I cannot help but try.

Its disapproval
And resentment
And all things that come
With realising I'm not a kid anymore.

A car
And the freedom it brings.....
And the insurance, rego, fuel costs.

But the freedom, oh that feeling of flying down the freeway in the middle of nowhere,
it's irresistible.

Until there's a scream of brakes
And the shriek of torn metal
And a pool of my own blood
Flowing from the car wreck that is inevitable
If I keep flying down that road.

So I keep my foot on the brake,
At least until I know where I'm going.
My map is being drawn as I write,
And will continue to be created
Even as I drive off the page.
Into the unknown white
Where only my conscience is the compass.

... yeah, i can live with that. but can you?

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