Nostalgia
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
Nothing better than getting paid while you're writing at work (wouldn't that technically make me a professional poet...maybe I'll sneak that into the job description)....here's the result of one such shift.
I'm still working off,
All I gained,
Shedding debts and weight,
Shredding receipts isn't denial is it?
Yeah, you've got the same scars,
I've seen the cars we drive,
That suits us just fine,
For current purpose without,
Devout precission,
But with integrity and coolant leaks.
We tote the same backpack,
That once carried a 1.75,
And a toothbrush across campus,
Adorned with accusatory buttons,
Character tears,
Lest not forget the tattoos of bored ball point pens.
Here we are now...maybe,
Doodling on the walls of our cubicle,
Filling our...
Left headlight out,
Dented bumper,
Broken power windows,
And don't even ask what happened to the back seat safety belts,
Commuter companion,
With old mix tapes,
Now on CD,
And MP3.
But for sure,
We hum choruses,
Of songs that will date us,
That we once hated,
Now only valued for dosage of nostalgia,
Or at least that's what we say out loud.
Fact is,
We fall in love with ourselves,
And what we have,
Long after that part of us has left,
Or long after we have left it.
We're working off,
All we owe ourselves.
The debts of dreams,
Are rarely prioritized,
As often as they are redefined...
Into whims,
Distractions.
Reactions,
Find themselves in this pile
Of character buildings,
Collapsed into rubble,
That only we seem to find the value in.
I'm still working off,
All I gained,
Shedding debts and weight,
Shredding receipts isn't denial is it?
Yeah, you've got the same scars,
I've seen the cars we drive,
That suits us just fine,
For current purpose without,
Devout precission,
But with integrity and coolant leaks.
We tote the same backpack,
That once carried a 1.75,
And a toothbrush across campus,
Adorned with accusatory buttons,
Character tears,
Lest not forget the tattoos of bored ball point pens.
Here we are now...maybe,
Doodling on the walls of our cubicle,
Filling our...
Left headlight out,
Dented bumper,
Broken power windows,
And don't even ask what happened to the back seat safety belts,
Commuter companion,
With old mix tapes,
Now on CD,
And MP3.
But for sure,
We hum choruses,
Of songs that will date us,
That we once hated,
Now only valued for dosage of nostalgia,
Or at least that's what we say out loud.
Fact is,
We fall in love with ourselves,
And what we have,
Long after that part of us has left,
Or long after we have left it.
We're working off,
All we owe ourselves.
The debts of dreams,
Are rarely prioritized,
As often as they are redefined...
Into whims,
Distractions.
Reactions,
Find themselves in this pile
Of character buildings,
Collapsed into rubble,
That only we seem to find the value in.
... i really enjoyed this, as usual you struck a chord with me.