books · me · mine · poetry

Poem: Yours

As I wish to follow the order of my posts I have recently established (whether or not anyone has noticed it, that is their problem), this post is going to display a poem. Now, I have not written much in the past few days, except for this one little piece which I had originally thought not to post here. Why? Because it doesn’t feel like me, and I’m not quite sure I like it very much.

Here it is, anyways:


I could be your little girl; I could be the innocence;
I could be that teenage crush you’ve always waited for.

One kiss and I would be in heaven, if it exists.
Or I would create it; (it would be that moment,) if it didn’t.

There would never have been such happiness, such pleasure,
as if I got to press my lips against your lips;
if you held me close against your chest.

You could have me, all of me.

In my honest opinion, I think it’s too ‘I’m yours for the taking’ sort of poem, too obvious, without any underlying meanings there hidden.

Well, I can’t take all the credit for being so horribly uninspired this week (actually I can but I really don’t want to). What usually inspire me are, of course, people I meet – so my daily life at school, mainly. This means discussions with people, listening to other people talk to each other, quite simply just looking around and all that. Sometimes even the things we study, as was the case with the whole Victorian literature course, during which I wrote a lot.
Now, unfortunately, I find myself studying Shakespeare, which turned out to be not so very inspiring.
When not in school, then, I often find my inspiration on things I read. If reading a really good book, I get happy and energetic and ‘thoughtful’. Except for maybe with The Passage, which just kept me wanting to read and read some more.
As I mentioned in the last post, precisely on the book by Justin Cronin, I started reading a book that I had had stored in my bookshelf for quite a while now, every now and then catching my eye and yelling at me to pick it up and read. The Historian, by Elizabeth Kostova. I won’t say much here about the book itself, since I’m trying to get a habit of writing a little ‘review’ on what I’ve read and my thoughts on the text after I finish, as I’ve done so far with The Passage, Jerusalem and Shamrock Tea.
Anyways, as you might have guessed by now, I’m not all that keen on the book so far. I’m currently on page 211, and still sort of waiting for the narration to ‘get to the point’. I won’t give up though. Just hoping the book will turn out to be like Great Expectations of Charles Dickens, that the first two thirds are just pointless explanation and the rest is the good and interesting part where the action happens.

Another thing that doesn’t help with the whole issue of inspiration is that I’m already tired of sitting home alone, and there’s still plenty of days to go until I get something else to do.



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