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Nevermore
i.
t.h.e.r.e.w.a.s.o.n.c.e.a.m.a.n.
w.h.o.i.l.o.v.e.d.
b.u.t.w.h.o.h.e.l.o.v.e.d.
w.a.s.a.w.o.m.a.n.s.o.
i.r.i.d.d.l.e.d.m.y.s.el.f.w.i.t.h.
t.h.e.s.e.p.e.r.i.o.d.s.
t.h.e.y.c.a.l.l.b.u.l.l.e.t.s.
ii.
the teenage poet finds
a treasure box-rather not;
it is an old book of faded
warmth, and glory-but look!
actual words, with meaning.
“Nevermore” shouts Poe,
as Frost contemplates which
road to take, and Langston Hughes
humors politics and per-haps freedom,
not lovey dovey b******* us
teenagers call poetry.
iii.
my memories are rather
anachronistic,
sadistic, perhaps, as well,
and they dot the landscape of my brain
with fleeting words:
love
friends
coffee
movie
breath
fake
mornings
bagels
real
homo
perhaps
sexual
counting
the
pedals
of
the
flower
you
held
not
for
me
but
for
your
new
girlfriend.
iv.
I wonder what ee cumings was thinking
when he butchered the words so-
cutting them into pieces so that
his poetry was choppy and gnarled
like my damaged heart.
I try to relate these things
in the form of poetry
and prose,
but I end up rambling
of roads less traveled, politics,
and per-haps freedom,
Because when it comes to love
I simply shout,
“Nevermore.”
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This was inspired by personal internal struggle, fighting through confusion regarding sexual identity, as well as typical teen relationship anxieties. It's very angsty, probably due to my frustrations in relationships, and it also draws upon some of my favorite poets.