ON RECALLING ANGST FROM DAYS GONE BY

"Alright Aaron," you say, "you've posted several works by some of America's greatest poetic voices. How's about some poetry of your own?" It's a fair cop, made even more so by the fact that I haven't written a poem in a month of Sundays. But if you're in the mood for some puerile, lovesick maudlin verse, here's a poem I wrote in February of 2004. I can make no suitable apology for it other than the fact that I was a young, foolish man of 23 when I wrote this. I hope it's not too cringe-worthy.


If only you knew what I think about
You might not ever look at me that way again.
Sometimes I wish that you would just figure it out
on your own, because I don't want to go about explaining.
It's not that my thoughts are bad; after all, there is no good or bad
but thinking makes it makes it makes it so it wakes me up
in the middle of the night
And I can't sleep. Then I turn and look and there you are
Lying in bed beside me. And it's just fine you're naked now, but do you want to
Know that I undressed you in my mind the very first time we met?
Does the fact that I just told you make me more a demon or a saint?
And when we fucked - this time again, for the very first time - is it best that I not say
Just how many others came before, and that I couldn't quite remember
what your name was that next day?
Maybe this is best, because I've tried to tell the truth before
To some who thought they knew what I would say;
I always wound up disappointing them and me.
But surely you know, don't you? that everyone is thinking
Just like me, it's only that I need to tell somebody else.
But only if they're special are you special?
Only if they're brave are you that brave?
Only if they're human are you human?
Maybe I'll find out tomorrow, when you wake.


Actually, even today I kind of like it. Just don't ask me to post anything from my teenaged years.