Smaccoms

So I had to re-read the poem with that interpretation in mind which is different from what I had in mind when I actually wrote it (which is totally cool, I like different interpretations). I can totally see how it could be talking about a relationship. The guy I was writing about--we were never anything more than acquaintances. I was frustrated cause I could have sworn we both wanted something more, but I never got a chance to find out. He was a big famous football player (surprise). He seemed so much more than that though, he was in one of my classes, and really a great guy (from what I could tell anyway). It was really refreshing to came at the poem from a different angle after reading your take on it, thanks.

Your stare has me mesmerized, its intensity a shock. Everyone else seems banished if only for moment. Now you?re gone, my mind still with you, as if on a lock. That one moment brought back much, relieving a block. Now it?s over, and I?ve seen nothing beyond that instant. Your stare has me mesmerized, it?s intensity a shock. I thought it meant something, or maybe it was to mock. I feel as though you?ve used me as a lowly toy, a servant. Now you?re gone, my mind still with you, as if on a lock. I want my unreal fantasy, leaving me staring at the clock. It?s haunting to see you pass me by, when you?re ignorant. Your stare has me mesmerized, it?s intensity a shock. I must be forever quiet, or to myself abuse will flock. Of course it won?t leave my head; you made it too important. Now you?re gone, my mind still with you, as if on a lock. I can?t accept it, meaning I face eternal time, going tick tock. This isn?t fair; you?ve got me perplexed on one hollow little event. Your stare has me mesmerized, it?s intensity a shock. Now you?re gone, my mind still with you, as if on a lock

Do you think it would be possible to put some groups under poet's corner? So that when you want to put in another poem, you'll have a smaller audience? You could find specific types of poems you want to read more readily. I think it might just be easier in general really. Who would do that anyay, create folders under the poet's corner folder? As for folder titles, I have a few ideas... -Selected Forms -Miscellanious/Free Write -Comedic Poems -Current Event Related What does everyone think? Do you agree with the section titles? Do you have suggestions for others or better titles for the ones I have already? DO you think it makes sense to do something like this in the first place? I just thought I might propose the idea...

I think the reason for what you mention is to simply get your attention, and for the symmetry of all the first lines. It's a great way to get people to stop in mid-sentence while reading the piece and re-read it, while not really changing much. Poetry is outside the laws of english writing. The writer can change and do w/e he likes to his pieces. There is even a genre of poetry where the location of ll the words is spread out in random locations and such across the page, like a piece of art. It allows the writer to be more creative that way

Perfection: the word of curses upon one?s lips. It tears enjoyment away form one?s existence Like fission bombs blowing particles from one Galaxy to the next as if a hop and jump away. Development of my younger self was always Insufferably aware of the perfectionist ideal present In the loved ones who choose choices poisonous To my health, brewing slowly, oh so slowly. I feel poisoned beyond good measuring, never Knowing a limit from determination and some- Thing short form insanity of hours of game- Play and precious time wasted staring at problems. Anger turns to frustration blown through the Window as my refusal to quit is fired from lessons Grounded into my subconscious as if a stone Tablet transformed with laws on my mind. My refusal and determination are blindingly right In front of me as I see myself staring at the one thing Remaining in my world, which has melted away With cares, ethics and sanity lost in a whirl. I wish it weren?t so as assignments I am told must Have not one thing in line with a mistake while I am constantly trying to step away and leave it Be with a job well done, when I lose control. Now my insanity is laughing and spitting its way out, As a pace the floor from hour to hour, imagining My life with social experiences gone wild knowing Well plenty left to do, while nothing left to learn. Calorie after calorie is burned into craziness as a Constant path wears into the floor as midnight flies By; I cannot stop thinking of procrastination, Destructiveness edging itself to full downstage. Depressions and anger fill my thoughts as I lie There with everything to do, blown off. Perfectionism was never though to lead to Such an extreme to let it all fall crashing down. I once was perfect, listening and obeying every Word given to me from my own parental units. Not letting one hair of myself leave my lonely nest. Now unwanted rebellion and an unknown path Have forced frozen anger on an alternative plane I know not how to leave or calm to normal conditions.

That is one good poem dude. Metaaphors and similes galore, yet clear as day. I read found myself reading it a couple times before moving on, and I know I shall be coming back. Kepp it up

hey, there nothin wrong with fantasizing, it's what mkaes us human haha. Very engaging, I am intrugued. I now am only 20, but now know 60 will be a trip. Thank you

Very intriguing, I like it. The metaphors and such are complicated enough to make you stop and think as you're reading it. This is definitely one I'll read a few times over time.

All the men have gathered here to celebrate our kind all alone. A main focus lucid to melt the fear, spirits common between our own. Many a homosexual comes to hone their aptness, perfection necessary for an Adonis?just a simple clone? another less than worthy adversary. Now I?m on the run from every queer, since I do not match the recent clone. But I am held down by those who sear my skin and taunt me by their tasty bone? snatch it so I bust my head and moan on the floor repeatedly till I cannot carry my skull properly, not even my cheek bone. I am another less than worthy adversary. Seductive hetero?s come slyly and steer their goods toward me over the phone so my mind is mesmerized by a drear personality and clever intellect. A cone after a cone separates me from the lone stranger lusting for me despite his parry. Holding his ground, he may not bemoan another less than worthy adversary. Prince, how should I crown you, a clone! Finally I will take the long awaited ferry that will carry me from this cursed zone, another less than worthy adversary.