Upon further inspection, I've decided that this isn't in fact a poem. It has a few similarities though, so I decided to call it a hybrid. It has no formal structure, no rhyme scheme, nothing. However, once you read it, I thin it'll sort of fit in somewhere. Its actually very long. The longest I've written actually. But here it is;
I'm Sorry
I'm sorry for everything that I've done. Who I've become as opposed to who I was. Being a man, being a soldier, being wrong. I want to be different, I don't want to change. I want to make a difference, I want to make a change. But there's something inside me that won't let me be that man. Be the boy of 15, the boy of innocence. It takes the strain off my shoulders, the pain from my mind and soul and calms me down to a mellow murmur of a being. But I want to be perfect, and its so hard to be that. To be what I want to be, because I can't change me intrinsically it makes... Sense. Senseless... Senselessness... Please stop oppressing my mind with your thoughts and my faults and this court case that makes life a race to convince those who find it convenient to be lost for freedom. I'm sorry I'm not who I want to be, because that's just the way I see the world, and its hurts because I don't want to be... Or, not to be, or why do I see these stars above my head in the smoke from my mouth. I bled fire from the inside, my mind raw hide of a cow, a sow, a bough of a tree, that has no roots, but is rooted in the sky by the blue, and the white clouds and the grey clouds and the sun who shines bright and hurts my eyes every time I try to cry. My tears would well up in a pool, like stagnant blood if it wasn't for this... Release, deceased before I could live. My life seems so worth it, but worthless in this messy mauve melancholy that I made for myself. I'm sorry I can't be with you while I write this because what it means to me is what I mean to say that I mean to be a better person today. But I won't because I'm being held back by these strings that won't give any slack until my work here is done. But, could I finish it now, o cow, oh sow, oh roots in the clouds? I am, will be a soulless mess slowly undressed by this foolishness. I would lie bare chested and sore breasted from those times I would whine and cry and pray that I would die. But I can't just stand up like that because my legs are upside down and my head is in the clouds, sow, cow, now I don't know where to go, why I don't know where the wind blows. I came, I saw, I saw, and left. Left a note in my head that says "never do that again" but I'm sorry I can't be clean. Be unseen, be a ghost in a dream because the clouds I see are covering me like a blanket of lost hope, I hope I won't choke on this smoke because. Its not what I want. Its not what I want. Its not what I want... I'm sorry I can't do everything. Be a superman, or even a man who knows what truth is. Because you can't live without a lie. Separated, extrapolated, excavated like brain soup for the sun god to breathe down on the darkness. Planting thoughts in the sky like trees, like birds and bees. Like me. And I'm sorry that's all that I turned out to be, but, that's just the way it's gonna go I see. I'm not a soldier, or a saint, but this fight has been worth the wait, and heaven knows how much I'll fight, for what I think is right, but not tonight, because I can't see with smoke in my eyes.
10/02/2013
