I hope there is something more than personality or we're fucked

I am not sure why I included everyone in the title. Sorry, everyone.

Are we all in this together?

Good.

* * * * * * * *

I remember a particular viewpoint I had
when I was a child. I would talk about my
newly formed opinions on world issues
with my father. Muhammad Ali, a man
who will always be known as a beautiful
destroyer of men, was on my mind. "He
deserved to have his right to fight taken
away from him. He was a draft dodger."

My father would nod in what I thought
to be agreement. I saw it this way because
he was a Marine. But, you know the old
saying: "Once a Marine, Always A Marine"
And when I had these flashes of judgment,
which I interpreted to be moments of
premature wisdom and brilliance, I
must have seemed like a terrible
little prick wrapped up in a Midwest
upbringing he would grow to resent.
And I was, although the resentment has
faded into something less extreme, which
brings on it's own kind of guilt.

I'm fairly self-assured that I've grown
past this. Hating on Cassius Clay or
any other human being with the ability
to know the difference between fighting
and dying is not something I'd like to
be remembered for doing, although
I assume I am the only one who
recollects the father/son opinion swap
in the first place. And I learned at least
one thing that I am aware of): Having
nothing to fight against but your own
mistakes makes it much easier to say
there is nothing wrong with taking away
anyone's right to fight.

Life is boring, friends

I say this without thinking, because
upon waking this morning to an
alarm clock trapped in my roommates
locked bedroom that was below mine,
I issued a warning and then kicked
the door down. My footprint is on
the door; when August comes and I
move out I will be able to say
"My footprint has remained to this day"
And that day will be July 31st.

It took me five kicks to break the
deadbolt lock. I told my neighbor
about it and then complained to her
for hours about how life is either
hard or exceptionally dull. I wish
it had taken me one-thousand kicks
to bust that door in, and I could start
every day of my life from now on
doing it all over again.

Sherlock Holmes and the Peer Evaluation

Written from a peer's perspective, evaluating me with scrutiny:

"All the enjambent is distracting! It's such a cool idea and images. You just throw in too many poetry devices to prove your point"

Indeed. I am using far too many poetic devices in my poetry.

No shit, sherlock.

One Night Only

Tonight I am isolating myself from the world.
I will gather my poems together to create
a portfolio for Mark Neely's poetry class.
It will also contain simultaneously-at-once-and-together
at least half of the poems that will be included
in 'birdhouse', my first chapbook that will
hopefully exist in January. And I hope that
it exists so hard and so fast, and that it doesn't
become an old idea in my brain and move to
the nursery home brain-stem area, where
old ideas go to become nothing but themselves
falling short of everything they have ever done.

Self-Portrait at 20

I made them right and just; though free to fall
And choices made are choices to be kept
Though guilt and shame (or wine) were to follow,
I did not tremble; neither laughed or wept.
When out one day I glanced a broken mirror
My own eyes split up among the pieces,
I thought that it was only seven years;
A risk to take to see my many faces.
And one was sad and another, solemn
the rest were scattered, shattered between;
The reflections took hold; somewhere along
I stretched myself white, too thin to be seen

And in the time it took to notice this,
a choice, a moment, went; one that I missed

rap lyrics, riggity-rap music, funky shit

I am forcing myself to be in my room alone because I sort of hate it. Only in the mornings do I appreciate any kind of solitude. Once I introduce people into my daily diet my raging metabolism enthusiasm for intrapersonal interaction doesn't cease until I sleep.

* * * * * * * * * *

Okay I lost interest in this for a while but I think it's coming back.
* * * * * * *

My past is tied around my waist and my legs never seem to get any stronger.

My car is out of power steering fluid (I think). My forearms are stronger.

My friends are all where they should be. I miss everyone at once but only when they aren't around. I miss my family only when I am with them. There are in-betweens, maybe one or two. Or none.

P.J Harvey is singing to me and that makes me feel less lonely. It's like a woman is asking me to save her from a very far distance. When a male vocalist plays, I think it's me talking to myself. Both of these things lead me to think I'm fucked up but I think I can play it off as being 'eccentric'

What do you think?