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by V. Blake

i will never write a song that moves the world.
and maybe that's okay.
i will never amount to anything that you,
or someone i know, or someone i don't
hasn't already amounted to, and gotten change for,
and maybe that's okay too,
because every single time i open my room's only window
to sip night air that never forgets to taste sweeter
than any cocktail in the universe made with hours that came before,
i remember to remember that somewhere out there
is a guy, or a girl, or a kid, or a dream
that i know, or that i don't
who's got my back on this one.

i could have your back too, if you want.
and maybe that's okay sometimes,
but you need to stop looking into every mirror that catches your
infinitely gorgeous, effortlessly perfect,
don't-need-no-goddamn-colored-contacts eyes.
i promise you that no heart ever broke without acoustic guitar,
and even the ones that did got to tell stories to people in bars
like war heroes talking about how they got their scars
to folk that couldn't do a hell of a lot less than be fascinated.
so smile, and try a little harder to take my word for it
when i say that you're beautiful for it,
and that the world is better for it,
and that you can take that $20 you were gonna spend on some shit you didn't need
and give it away to the first stranger that smiles back at you.
you'll be better off by the time you're done explaining yourself
and they aren't a stranger anymore.

honestly, i don't even remember if we had a prom queen,
but trust me, you will never in your life be better served by makeup
than sunscreen.
and i know this is starting to sound like it was written for every girl
who has fought tooth-and-nail to over-complicate something so simple as life,
but that's just because my only advice to the guys is of the incidental,
pathetically simple,
shouldn't-even-need-to-be-said variety:

maybe you're like me, and maybe you aren't.
maybe you'll write that song that moves the world,
and maybe you won't.
maybe you already have,
and all my rambling, hopefully-not-too-terribly-incoherent,
stream-of-kind-of-consciousness, heavy-handed bullshit
will spend its entire existence waiting on doorsteps
unnoticed by everyone listening to your music too loudly to hear it knocking.
but one way or the other,

for fuck's sake, don't be an asshole.


Author's Note: (Not the real title)

Posted on 05/28/2011
Copyright © 2020 V. Blake

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Ava Blu on 05/29/11 at 01:50 AM

This reads like something I would have written. I love it. I don't mean that in a vain way. I just really felt this one.

Posted by Scott Utley on 05/29/11 at 08:18 PM

Unique! You held my attention and I haven't had it held so well at least since 1965.

Posted by Anita Mac on 06/01/11 at 04:59 AM

<3 ... Yeah, I just lamely hearted that. I'm going to start referring any potential suitors to you. That aside, there are some stream-of-consciousness gems in here. Fantastic write!

Posted by James Zealy on 06/01/11 at 03:24 PM

Its nice to know anger does not sit on your doorstep for long. Great for mentle health and a good write.

Posted by Laura Doom on 12/25/11 at 10:35 AM

Too late, but still a cautionary tail that's better for the wagging, despite that listing anomaly...

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