Knocking

I think I have been over-thinking blogging. I have only been doing it when I really felt like I had something to write. I thought it had to be long... a full story. I was reading the blog of my favorite author, Jen Lancaster, and she has an effective way of writing these long stories as well as quick, humorous blogs. Check her out: www.jennsylvania.com. Definitely read her books. My point though, was that I'm going to try and blog more, and about less epic things. Not that the hug whore I wrote about the other day was epic, but it was good story.

Anyway, I was rooting through some crap today and came across an old poem. Yeah, I used to write poetry. Bad poetry. I wrote a whole book of it in high school... sometimes it was cryptic, and sometimes it was blatantly obvious, but most of it bad. Most of it was obviously about being in the closet. I'm sure it was a difficult thing, although I can't really remember those feelings. Not that I'm some "we're here, we're queer" kinda guy now, but I don't really feel too much discomfort saying I'm gay now.

So I cam across this loose poem, that was from about 5 years after I initially wrote the high school stuff. It was dated 10.01.04, so I assume I was just pulling out Poe's "Haunted" album which I listen to in the months surrounding Halloween. The songs, and the corresponding novel House of Leaves written by her brother, play with space and sizes of rooms and hallways changing.

I think this was the year I was living on my own in South Philly. I was single, independent-ish, and from what i remember I was loving it. This was about 2 months before Gary and I got back together. So I thought I'd share this poem... because it's kinda funny, but not half bad either... not good, just not half bad.

Knocking

Four walls, a ceiling & floor
plenty of windows
but no sign of a door

When I sleep
the room changes size
It reminds me so much
of my time spent alive

but now the walls are the only thing that live
They shrink like they're regressing from adult to kid

I feel trapped as the walls are closing in
but there's a secret up my sleeve
All my time spent here
and it's my choice to leave

What's that noise?
What could it be?
There's a knocking on the wall.

Don't be scared
it's just me
knocking on the wall

I'm not sure why i just gave up on rhyming at the end. I don't think it would have been too hard to rhyme with wall. Hall, mall, fall, call, stall, all, ball, draw, crawl, Paul, and so on... But I'm sure 5 years from now I'll be making fun of these blogs. OOOh, if I make fun of this blog it will be like when you look at yourself in the bathroom mirror through the medicine cabinet mirror and it keeps going and going and.... you get the point. So that's something to look forward to in 2015.