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Plea bargain
I hear half a beat
of drum to serve time
have half a hope
in the meantime praise God
for this confusion
Poems on the topic: confusion
Poems on the topic “confusion” on Poets.by.
Just confused
Hurt,
Blinding my senses.
Throwing me into,
Total confusion.
Should I be sad,
Or should I smile?
What emotion,
Should I show.
What facial gestures,
Must I make.
Happiness is so much,
Easier to fake.
Is this good,
Or is this bad?
Do such terms exist,
In this universe.
* * *
Is it normal to feel so many people inside you
and there always there
there all you
just different sides of you
and your all of them
but when you think about them
your confused
and the confused you is confused
Always a argument
the drama queen
the girl who's mean
and there all me
its ok if you think I'm insane
or theres something wrong with my brain
most people think of me as nobody
or just don't think of me
Confusion
Give me a sign
no actually, don't
I thought it would help me
I now know it won't
with every word
my brain drifts away
to why you would say that
and what I should say
left in the darkness
my options are few
I might have had chances
those chances, I blew
So give me a sign
show me what to say
help me with kindness
to make things okay
letting go
I tried explaining
why I still love you
but nothing
would come out
that was when I realised
I didn't know why
either.
You Need to Know
I think you need to know
You say I'm old enough to understand
Yet you always say I'm too young
So don't tell me something
You think I'm old enough
To understand
Because you're confused
Make up your mind
Most likely
I don't understand
Or I just can't handle it
I'm that age
Where you step
On a thin sheet of ice
Every time you open your mouth
So do not tell me
Chicago
I am mature, a man child, in America, in the West, in the
great valley of the Mississippi. My head arises above
the cornfields. I stand up among the new corn.
I am a child, a confused child in a confused world. There
are no clothes made that fit me. The minds of men
cannot clothe me. Great projects arise within me. I
have a brain and it is cunning and shrewd.
I want leisure to become beautiful, but there is no leisure.
Men should bathe me with prayers and with weeping,
but there are no men.
Now — from now — from to-day I shall do deeds of fiery
meaning. Songs shall arise in my throat and hurt me.
I am a little thing, a tiny little thing on the vast prairies.
J. Milton Miles
Whenever the Presbyterian bell
Was rung by itself, I knew it as the Presbyterian bell.
But when its sound was mingled
With the sound of the Methodist, the Christian,
The Baptist and the Congregational,
I could no longer distinguish it,
Nor any one from the others, or either of them.
And as many voices called to me in life
Marvel not that I could not tell
The true from the false,
Nor even, at last, the voice that
I should have known.
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