Can you see it?
A landscape of blue
Now look at it
As I would look at you
I smile at you
You smile back
But with such a curved lip
“Thou hast set me on the rack,”
We’ve brewed quite a friendship
Oh, yes. We’re friends.
A friendship with awkward words
And loose, untied ends
A blue, such a hue
As the color of sadness
But in a parallel, twisted way
A hue the color of madness,
Calm and assertive,
Reserved but not locked,
Such a friendship
At your door would have me docked,
I’m stuck in a corner
From being nice
And being good,
I jumped to a conclusion
Like any sensible person would:
Holding the door
Or helping a person
Or giving compliments
Or fulfilling promises
Never gets you anywhere.
Because in the end,
No one knows I’m there.
I’ll keep holding the door,
I’ll keep helping people,
I’ll keep complimenting,
I’ll keep fulfilling promises.
It’s what nice people
Are made to do, and happen to do
And that’s the only thing
They’ll ever do.
Hold the door.
Help people.
Give compliments.
Fulfill promises.
Such little things go unnoticed
And unappreciated.
Sure, for a few seconds,
They’ll remember.
But I know that,
Before next September,
They’ll move on.
And I won’t.
I thought that good guys never win,
And they don’t.
A nice person makes a good friend
But nothing else
No further does one
Look into a good person.
Because a good person
Is simply a good person
A good guy will never date a girl,
A good girl will never date a guy.
When you break it down
No matter how good of a person
Your crush happens to be
No matter how much talent is given me
They’re still shallow.
They look at your look
And judging this
By the unwritten book
If you’re hot
She’s yours
If you’re not…
She’s not.
Take it from
A fat, ugly poet
Goodness is suicide
Don’t pretend you don’t know it.
I write and strive
And it moves her not
And it turns out
She’s not as good as I thought
So I sit here
While the night grows old
Waiting for my love to rot
I look for other mates
But from my point
I only see more chances
For me depression to anoint
Still shallow,
Still her heart reserved,
Still immature,
Still her beauty conserved,
Yet
Still I think
Still I dream
Still I sink
Still I scheme
Still I see
Still I blush
Still it’s me,
Still I crush
Still I wonder
As he whips off winter’s gloves
With his heart burst asunder
How this good bastard still loves
Because he knows,
And she knows,
Good people are just there
To hold the door,
To help people,
To give compliments,
To fulfill their promises.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
The Good Never Win
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
I think you have the makings of a great writer in you, but it seems like you're really limiting yourself with your rhyme scheme. It forces you to write awkwardly where your words should flow. Also, I take offense to your view of women. You can't claim that all women are heartless, empty-headed snobs just because none of the ones you know happen to be romantically interested in you right now. Maybe if you changed your attitude toward them, your luck would change too. Overall, though, I really enjoy your writing and I admire how honest you are. I look forward to reading more of your work.
I didn't. I said just the one i used to like...eh whatever.
Post a Comment