Week 484 (June 18 - July1) Poems Topic: Running Late

[C.P., Windrunner]

You have until the 1st of July to post a poem and from the 2nd to around the 8th of July, we’ll vote for which one we thought was best!

Please post directly into the topic and not a link. Please don’t use a poem previously used in this group. Only one submission per person is allowed.

Your poem can be of any length!

This week’s topic is: running late

The rules are pretty loose. You could write a poem about anything that has to do with the subject/photo but it must relate to the topic somehow.

[Garrison]

POET: Garrison Kelly
TITLE: Couch Potato Salad
GENRE: Traditional Poetry
RATING: PG-13 for swearing



Running late to a party where I don’t belong
What’s the fucking point in staying so strong?
What’s the point in coming out of the shadows?
Small talk never got past the point of shallow

Laying on the couch and staring at the ceiling
Forgetting about my brokenhearted feelings
Forgetting that there are strangers all around me
I’d enter their social circles if they allowed me

Couch potato salad is what I’ve become
Lazy, dead inside, and comfortably numb
I didn’t have to suck down a single beer
To feel like sleeping forever in here

There’s a Denny’s only a few blocks away
Hopefully they’re open twenty-four hours a day
Pancakes and syrup to kill the loneliness
My body’s a temple and I’m his holiness

Nobody noticed that I got off the couch
Not a “goodbye” or “wait up” out of their mouths
That’s okay, they’re invisible to me as well
What about the waitress? Can she even tell?

Walking down the street with my head hung low
Keeping my pace so agonizingly slow
I don’t notice when someone tells me to move
To impatient strangers, I’ve nothing to prove

Another night of waffles and emptiness
Another night of squandered friendliness
Another night of being socially envious
Another night of depressive endlessness

When will I learn to stay home for the night?
When will I admit that I could never be right?
No more philosophy, just syrup and batter
It’s not like any of this even fucking matters

A happy Buddha belly and a frozen heart
This is how the next morning will start
Another day of wishing for bravery
And chowing down on steaks so savory