Tuesday 11 December 2012

You inspire me to write shit poetry about how my life is so complicated now that I am falling for you


There will always be someone better than me
Someone more beautiful
More intelligent
Funnier
Classier
And it must be serious if you have me questioning myself
Am I good enough for you?
Why would someone like you ever want someone like me?
I question my motives for wanting you
Because what I actually wonder is 
Why would I even want to be with someone like you?
You with all your mistakes
You strut around like the king of his own world
Flirting with every girl you see
Cussing and swearing all the time
At times saying the most misogynistic crap at times
So why do I even like you?
I really want to NOT like you
*looooong sigh*
But every time I am near you 
I just want to talk to you
Smile at you
Ask you how you are
How your day has been
What do you like doing...
And can I do it with you?
I want to study you
The creases and lines and contours of you
What makes you... you
Am I just a fool in lust for you?
I’m falling
And I don’t know where
But I know I want to land somewhere
Close to your heart.

I want to be your Jane and you to be my Tarzan but you really dont like hanging from trees

I hate this feeling
I want you to validate me
I want to be the only one who makes me smile
I'm like a beast in a cage too small when I see you with other girls
I don't even know if I really like you.
Like seriously?
Is it just the idea of being with you?
That makes my heart flutter,
my face grow warm and flush,
makes my hands sweaty and clammy...
When you walk into the room
my eyes dart and try to avoid you
in case it becomes too obvious
that all I want to do is touch you
and talk to you,
give you a piece of my mind
and learn about yours
your quirks, your fears and dreams
I keep reminding myself that I don't feel anything
it's just the climate
the change in temperature
the stress I'm under
the dishes not being done...
anything to stop me from falling for you...

Did I tell you I was a poet?

How is one a poet when one fails at vocabulary? Answer: *shrugs* Words form sentences in my head and when pen is put to paper, I call it poetry.



The Fa’asamoa

I’ve lost my culture.

The blood of my ancestors run deep within me.

But their language so foreign, like gibberish to my ears.

I claim to be their descendent, yet tongues are tied.

I reach helplessly for words that are not in my reach, yet so close to home.

Words that will teach the generations to come of who they are.

Yet only the white mans language slides smoothly off the tip of my tongue.

 O fea sa e i ai? O fea ua e alu i ai? 

Where were you? Where have you been?

What will I teach my children? Of their language?  Of their culture?

When the Samoan language I hardly know has been stolen from my very lips.

I try so hard to remember, yet my life is living to forget.

My eyes cry unseeing tears of sadness.

Sadness that sweeps over the eyes of my matua and aiga, as I struggle with simple words.

Words that will one day be lost in a cacophony of broken Samoan.

Written by 18 year old me.