It's 2 in the morning again.

Ever wanted to change,
and then been really really angry
at yourself because you can't change,

and then been really super sad
at that realization,

and then that realization
shows you that if you can't change you,

that must be part of you for some twisted, merciless reason?

I wish I could write a happy poem for any readers.
I do try to find the optimism in the end.

2 AM... again.

I'm sick of myself.

I try to pick on myself,

but then I'm filed as coy.

I can't manage myself.

I try to handle myself,

but then I've misfiled my joy.

I'm hating myself,

and degrading myself.

I can't figure out when I'm right,

and I don't know if I should sleep,
or what secrets to keep.

Or if two is just too late too-night.

Wondering if self-medication exists,

or is it just the easy way out.

Am I weak to need help,

or weak not to seek it,

I can't figure out, what's "alright"?

yet sometimes I like what I see,

I guess I'm afraid to be me,

because I'm afraid of what's in my head,

and much more afraid of what's in everyone else's.

Ze Furst Post

My name is Alyson,
the Worrier, or, in honor of John Hughes,
the Basket Case.



I'm young and I think too much,
and I needed somewhere to put all of my balderdash!

Most functional human beings call that a journal,
but those seems too final to me, like a bad tattoo.

Also, I like when helping myself helps other people,
which a piece of notebook paper can rarely do.

So lets call this my cyber cave drawing, serpent mound,
whatever.
I'm telling you the story, without telling you to read it.

My top-full mind is clay,
so I appreciate your thoughts,
which shape me into something truer before I'm green ware,
and wrinkly and sore and crabby about being green ware.
please share them!

You don't have to agree with me.
I don't have to agree with you.
I'm always willing to agree to disagree on any issue.
But in the end of any argument you figure something
out.

To me, the best part about poetry is that it can be interpreted in any
way necessary--
depending on my mood, a love poem can sound like an angry poem,
for instance.

My Favorite Poem is
The More Loving One by W.H. Auden, because,
like a good stiletto, no matter where/who/what I am in life it just fits:

In Her Shoes:

"Maggie Feller: Shoes like these should not be locked in a closet! They should be living a life of scandal, and passion and getting screwed in an alleyway by a billionaire while his frigid wife waits in the limo thinking that he just went back into the bar to get his cellphone! These are cute too.

Rose Feller: Please tell me you just made that up.

Maggie Feller: Look, if you're not going to wear them... don't buy them! Leave them for someone who's going to get something out of them.

Rose Feller: I get something out of them! When I feel bad I like to treat myself. Clothes never look any good... food just makes me fatter... shoes always fit."


I'll share some of my own if and when I'm comfy :)

disclaimer:
I have a poet's train of thought,
*CHOO CHOO!*
which means I speak in Metaphor and Simile,
like Spanish in a way. Or Catalan.
don't be afraid to tell me when I make no sense.

and I apologize in advance for rambling.

love,
Half-Asleep-Me