• My Melodic Madness

    Sitting in my room,
    typing a poem onto my laptop,
    as a VH1 reality show
    is displayed on my TV,
    not being paid much attention to,
    I ponder to myself,

    “Who am I?
    Who is me?
    How will this poem
    Or even begin?”

    An artist
    am I.
    A writer
    am I.
    A poet, musician…
    Not the last one,
    not in a traditional sense at least.

    I am
    an internet junkie
    as well as an addict
    when it comes to neon and
    black clothing combinations.
    The best combination man has ever created-
    That would be coffee and chocolate.

    I am the quiet girl.
    I am the boisterous girl.
    I am the girl who hugs all her friends
    even if they growl at her
    like a Yorkshire terrier.
    The one who will budge,
    not to avoid confrontation,
    because she has changed her
    or convinced of something
    is me.

    While I am underestimated,
    by those who consider themselves
    superior to me in the back
    of their minds,
    I know who I am:
    ever growing,
    ever changing.
    Morphing with time as I see
    Keeping quiet
    and observing human nature,
    unless I have something to say.
    For as you go on,
    as I go unnoticed,
    I create
    and imagine all that you cannot.

    My mind may be chaotic:
    floating along my brainwaves
    atop pool doughnuts and
    floatie ducks.
    And then comes the time when I am bored,
    and the stream becomes choppy
    and violet
    as ideas swirl and twist and turn and romp
    creating beauty
    and comedy
    and horror,
    all in decent measurements.
    The tangents are long
    and drawn out,
    but deeply
    or shallowly
    depending on my mood and surroundings.

    So if I am judged,
    for my lack of consistency,
    or ability to morph to fill the vertical 4-square gap
    in this TETRIS game misnamed
    may this testimony be noted.
    The meaning of my madness
    is creation,
    for without it
    life is simply too