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This Is Not About Growing Up
by V. Blakemy hometown didn't have a beach.
the veil of song lyrics
between me and my melancholy
is paper thin and miles long.
all the poems i write on it
come out sounding like karaoke.
all the poems it writes on me
come out sounding wrong.
only half of it is cryptomnesia.
the rest is shameless.
i can keep up the matter-of-fact
until the last liar on earth
asks me politely to shut the hell up.
maybe by then i'll have recaptured a moment
well enough to justify my chokehold on its memory.
no one has ever seen my soul,
though i'm no more deliberately opaque than clever.
just look at me;
i couldn't even put these words in the right order.
i'm not wearing any clothes,
and it cannot be easy to believe
that my cracks are there by design.
i've never even lived by the ocean. 05/24/2011 Author's Note: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cryptomnesia
Posted on 05/25/2011
Copyright © 2024 V. Blake
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Morgan D Hafele on 05/25/11 at 09:49 AM this captures some very familiar feelings. and thanks for introducing me to cryptomnesia, great word in a very awesome piece. |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 05/25/11 at 09:47 PM I love that last line. Love the hell out of it. Great work, man. |
| Posted by Scott Utley on 05/29/11 at 08:24 PM I love this work. I love the your voice. It's an exciting read, and; cryp·tom·ne·sia definition
Pronunciation: /ˌkrip-ˌtäm-ˈnē-zhə/
Function: n
: the appearance in consciousness of memory images which are not recognized as such but which appear as original creations
cryp·tom·ne·sic Pronunciation: /-ˈnē-zik, -sik/
Function: adj
I didn't believe that was really a word. Thanks. |
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