Writing poetry, looking up at the midnight sun...

I think I mentioned somewhere before that at times, I can write some really horrid poetry. And so it was that I was fumbling around my bedroom looking for something, and I found this. A poem I wrote on February 15, 1995 (I have the date written on it, but no title). As I recall, I wrote it at work, probably crying the whole time. At that job, I was in an office by myself and it was in an out of the way place, and people rarely came by. I could have died from a stroke or something and nobody would have found me until the smell reached them. At any rate, this is about a guy I had met just a few weeks before, whom I'll call Beaver, cause it was his nickname. He and I had a "fling" for about a month and a half, with me getting all emotionally involved and him just getting sex (and the sex was GOOD, let me assure you!). Anyway, here we go (be gentle)...

I'm supposed to be working,

But no, I sit here thinking.

Thinking of you, nothing else.

You filling my thoughts, constantly,

Fill them with memories, and,

emotions I can't control.

And these emotions scare me.

They're intense and powerful.

I've never felt these before.

But I do not run or hide

rom them. Despite my fear, I

welcome them, the joy they bring.

They force me to do strange things,

like writing poetry. I

don't even like poetry!

And yet I'm forced to write it.

They make me want to call you,

Just to hear your voice, your laugh,

but I don't. I don't want to suffocate or crowd you in.

And they make me feel things too.

Happy, when I see you smile,

content, when ours hands are joined,

passion, when my lips touch yours,

but most of all, love. Just when-

ever we are together.

I wish I had the words or

ability to tell you

all of this face to face, but

I don't. So I do it here.

Oh, can you feel the angst? The ennui? the Goth-like, adolescent yearning? Well, it ain't good, but at least it's honest, cause it IS how I felt at the time. Can turn quite a phrase, your Uncle Polt, can't he?

POLT = listening to "Radio, Radio" by Elvis Costello

I love vegetarians cause they have garlic breath and fart a lot. - Ted, Queer Eye For The Straight Guy