one

today i am nineteen.
nineteen and all the years
between don't seem to be years
but more of just things happened
and not happened
everything is just one
i am everything.

i don't want to pretend
like i am something special
pretentious pricks
that's not really my style
(at least when it come to poetry)
and so i'm just jotting down
some stuff

i read a poem today that said that
all poetry really is
is thoughts broken up in different lines.
and i think by that, they meant bad poetry
and i think that's what this is.

so, hi.
this is an answer
to all of the poems that well up inside
that i never write down
because i don't feel like they're really worth
anything.
and this site is free.
i mean, i'm not even having to buy paper.
fuckin worthless poems.

maybe
they'll get better with time
and you'll see the progression
of this artist's work
the stages of development
the evolution of thought
or maybe i'll get bored with
writing poetry
and move on to my next phase.
crocheting?
trying to play guitar (again)?
birthing children?

i mean, can you ever really know?
i should have divided that
up into parts
to make it
seem
more
profound.

happy birthday
to
me.
i'm awesome.

(but actually
if you want to
get
technical,
my birthday ended
about an hour ago.
i guess
i'm not
awesome?)