It's been awhile since I've written
The words usually sound a lot better in my head
But maybe I'll write these thoughts down
And give them to you on your birthday
I want to sound artsy
I'll be emotional and misunderstood
But also chill and laid back depending on my audience
I want to be read easily but also mysterious
A pocket full of contradictions
Now didn't that sound cool?
I'll write about how it's easier to find a silver lining
When you look at the sun that's shining
About choirs singing and church bells ringing
Because these are the kinds of rhymes we like to make
I'll make an allusion to "The Little Match Girl" or some magic beans
So you'll know that I'm well read
Fall in love with me through my pen
But keep your distance
How's that for drama?
I write to say nothing and everything about the inklings of my heart
I want to reveal exactly where the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked can be found
Make known that I am in possession of great and powerful, but oh so secret knowledge
Now this is just getting silly
If I reference events from my history book, the wonder of nature, and anecdotes from my everyday life
You'll love what I write and want to share it with your friends
Then everyone will know exactly how complex and how simple I am
I'll let the AP English class readers decide my mood for me
That takes some of the pressure off
Heart to head
Head to pen
Pen to page
How we pretended the lids of Koolaid Jammers were our retainers
Or named all the stuffed animals then threw them down the stairs
How you called me whenever there was a bright and lovely moon
And I would run outside and sit on top of the car to see
How you stayed at my house way too late because we sat at the dining room table baring our souls
How we traveled abroad in our pirate ship, landing safely on land
Only to have to jump over patches of lava and hide from bearded men
How we clumsily tried to waltz on the roof at night hoping the people driving by thought we were crazy
A flash of poetic memories and what do you think of me now?
I want you to put down my writing
And walk away happily mystified
Like when a summer butterfly whizzes past your cheek
And all you see
Is a beautiful streak of color
