Picture Perfect

another poem by
another poet
with another metaphor

it does nothing for me

so i flip to the next page
while on the toilet
my cat attempting
to crawl into my pants
hanging at my ankles

yet another poem
by another poet

suddenly i feel
as though i'm looking
at pictures
asking
myself
why is this worth writing

i don't know you enough
to see your beautiful
landscape and foxes

i don't know you enough
to care about noisy
train stations
or
four thousand year old

turtles

he's been boiled anyway

instead, invite me in and tell
what makes you tick
and spare me
the simile

show me
you

not your reconstructed
dream world
used to hide
insecurities

give me something to work from
to learn from
to think about without comparing
it to my

less beautiful

surroundings

show me
life

show me truth

not another poem

Originality

sitting at home
still
wondering how to
inspire my own self
still
tried of trying

nothing comes of continuing
to script
in a blank

a space where few
pass and where
my ideas
come to pass

done and done
once written and read over
once
nothing new anymore,
it's been done.

the thoughts have been had
by me
had by them
and by you
us

yet us don't speak
thoughts, we act
unknowingly
not knowing real
want
not knowing
happy, it's what
us wants.

I sit still
with nothing done
and not spoken
expecting the easy

so you take your stuff
and sell
your thoughts and eyes
the same thoughts
been done and sold
the same eyes across many

and me? i still sit
still half
done and half
seen since
once had by me
completely
then had by us

instead i half do
and hope to share
my only half
with a one not
many
so that one may have
my eyes
my thoughts

and the one eyes
see
and the one thoughts
not yet tired
can consider that their
scenes and
mind is gifted to them
not to all
half appreciated
half remembered
my half