The Day Before I Went To The Mental Hospital I Wrote:
What Makes Me Curl Up In A Ball: A List Of Sorts By Jason Bartlett
God protect the young angel.
I can tell that some people have never felt real happiness.
They have just felt money, and the joy of greed.
I'm not afraid to show you off,
I'm afraid to show myself.
I see the world through the eyes of a newborn.
As we get older we become more conscious of others being aware of us.
Eventually we just fade away.
I never touch my face
because it feels like my beard will fall off.
Things I can never be, bumblebee in my mind,
keep me awake at white collar dawn.
Someone said that I write love poems
even though the love shatters into a million pieces,
the seeds of which make flowers grow,
but yet, I write anyway.
I haven't been to any of the places the wind blew them,
And I don't think I ever will go.
Even if I was stuck in a dungeon,
I'd find a crayon box and make art.
I wish someone would ask me what each verse means,
before I forget.
I think I stay up at night so the future comes quicker.
Everytime I take off my belt,
I know it holds my jeans up.
Only, I must have a real odd idea of how the world works
because of the movies.
I feel like nothing I do has an end.
What is the end?
What is living?
If everyone has their own definition of living,
why does it feel like I could die tomorrow?
Will people at my funeral say,
"He really lived.
He knew how to live."?
I keep waiting for somebody to show me how to live,
or at least love my life.
I don't want to live for somebody else.
I miss swimming,
and how tired and hungry it made my muscles feel.
I keep dreaming of being allowed in the boys locker room
and what it would be like to wear the proper uniform.
I never go to do it,
and I dream o things I would never do and can't do.
I have qualms about them,
how it's too late to do them.
And I'll never forget what I never did.
I can only face people when I know what they think of me.
I know I'll get through college,
but I don't think it's the right way to educate someone.
I want people I admire to use pie charts to tell me to stop admiring them,
and to admire myself,
because I can read a pie chart.
I wish for streets made of ice
and for all the dapper boys to stare at me.
We eat Zesta crackers in the mental hospital.
Poetry has it's claws in me,
and I wish it was something you could quit,
because I'm addicted to it.
Is there a poetaholics anonymous?
I made a vow to myself to never see my extended family again,
until I feel...