Untitled, for Emily.
By, Luke Bloomquist
I’m a introverted person.
I enjoy complex things made simple.
I cry for people I have never met,
And care for people I should hate, according to society.
I’m loud and outgoing only when comfortable,
Otherwise I’m quiet, for lack of interest.
I’ve been through way too much for a teenager,
But everyone says it will make me stronger in the long run:
I believe I’m just setting myself up to being used to letdowns,
But hopefully it won’t turn out that way.
I’m not obsessive over the opposite sex, or the same sex, like most are.
At this age, I could really care less I suppose.
What’s sad is, you asked me to write a poem;
And this isn’t quite poetic.
But then again what is defined as poetic,
Is the opinion of the reader, not the author.
I like the beach, because it seems like everyone’s happy there.
No one’s worrying about schedules and business and work.
The biggest worry is keeping sand out of your shoes,
And how the sun isn’t hot enough.
And me, I think complex things made simple,
Are quite beautiful things.
I’m quite the intelligent person, I will admit.
Although I’m way too lazy for my own good.
I like poetry because it’s something done out of enjoyment,
Yet I’m supposedly good at it,
And being acknowledged positively by your peers for a talent,
Is a wonderful feeling:
Embarrassing, nonetheless.
I’m hungry for the future,
But I search for the tree ripe with the fruit of knowledge,
With an anorexic appetite.
Did that make sense? Probably not.
A lot of my poetry are random metaphors that I myself don’t really comprehend.
But I guess people call things that sound cool, and are beyond their comprehension,
…poetic?
I hate death. I know everyone says when you die you end up somewhere better;
But I believe there is no better place than life.
I’m a happy person for the most part,
The only thing that gets me down and puts me through mood swings,
Is boredom. I hate it. I despise it.
Life is too genuine and fruitful to be wasted upon thinking too much.
Actions make the ugly beautiful,
Not theories.
To be honest, written poetry tends to bore me sometimes too.
I find spoken word much more interesting,
The act of presenting and speech makes poetry much more
…poetic? The emotion is given another dimension of beauty and power.
I’d much rather listen to a stranger speak his thoughts on the street
Than gaze endlessly at pages and pages of old-school poems,
From somewhere in the times they talk about in history class.
I enjoy modern poets like Saul Williams , and Shihan.
YouTube them, especially Shihan.
I enjoy the occasional “old-school” poet.
Pablo Neruda was a political writer, and he had an urban feel to him.
Edgar Allen Poe is just plain creepy, and quite cliché now that I
come to think of him.
I’ve never experienced ‘love’.
I hear poets speak and write and praise it,
But I guess I’ve never worried too much about it.
I’ve been in a few relationships here and there,
But nothing special enough to call ‘love’.
Maybe love comes with maturity?
And at this age, the closest teenagers seem to come
To what they believe love is,
Is a condom and a one-night stand.
Therefore, now that I’m on the subject:
I believe that youthful ‘love’,
Dare I say it, immature ‘love’,
Is the real reason for teenage pregnancy statistics.
Call me cynical, but I bet God agrees.
I enjoy complex things made simple,
Maybe that’s why I am in awe by those with the talent to draw.
To me, sketching and drawing seems so defying of reality and comprehension,
But to you, and the many visual artists,
It’s something explained along the lines of “eh”.
Drawing is just that simple and easy to you.
…and I find that beautiful.
Thank you for telling me to write you something.
It’s not quite poetic, forgive me for that.
But it’s helped me get some words out onto a keyboard,
So hopefully my writers block begins to whither away.
I’ll leave this untitled,
For there’s no real subject or a
‘read between the lines’ type metaphor.
God bless, one love, respect.
-Luke Taylor Bloomquist.
