seven billion over- poems

these are some poems i wrote over the quarantine period of march to august 2020.

i miss

i miss sitting on the quad

i miss going off alone

i miss long walks to the beach

i miss sitting in my bed

i miss the sun and i miss the lake

i miss the wind that blew in my face

i miss the commute

i miss the waits

and mainly i miss you, babe

time cut short we never came true, babe

no, we never came true

i miss lunches that cost too much

i miss listening to you talk about stuff

i miss waiting by the bus stop alone

i miss people loudly talking on their telephone

i miss the way i would sway to the music

i miss the way i could always use it

for inspiration on my darkest days

it doesn’t matter that i’m all alone

when i have a cinematic backdrop i can call home

gas station

small town, yellow grass

stopped after the over pass

just here to buy a drink

get some gas and go

do they wonder about me when i leave?

because there’s something about those small little gas stations

that i stop in on my way to my destination

that fill me with joy

is it the thrill of a new location?

or the fact that just for a moment someone new sees my face

and i exist in the memory of another place

they don’t know who i am

or where i’m going

but just for a moment i’m there

pretty places

i want to tour the desert west

singing my blues in bars

just to wander and get lost

but alas

stuck in a 10x10 bedroom in minnesota dreaming

i’m so corny, it’s ridiculous

and i’m not pretty enough to be like this

i’m only happy in beautiful rooms

oh i can be sad in pretty places, too

But sad in france is poetic

sad in minnesota is pathetic

i’m going to be depressed forever

let me have a vivacious standing

oblivion is my greatest fear

and i’m my harshest enemy

i want to take a year

to wander the world, find myself

i’m just another rich bitch who feels the world is against her

but i don’t care

i’m only happy in beautiful rooms

oh i can be sad in pretty places, too

wish i could go back and tell myself to fix it

i should’ve gone to the parties

i should’ve risked it

cause my life has been me being given the ingredients

but never baking the cake

oh, i rather be sad in utah

than sad in minnesota

i rather regret doing than regret not

hermetic

how many songs will i write about my abandonment?

cause i feel like i’ve been left on a roadside forever

since no one is forthcoming anymore

i always fall back into my old customs

because i’m just atoms

carrying me from one place to the next

so i write a cliche in the notes

and i wonder why i’ll never be known

i write a poem in my journal

and i never read it aloud just in case they hear something they can laugh at

then i wonder why i’m hermetic

i wonder if it’s safer to live a muted existence?

where it’s a lovely day when a truck pulls into town

or when someone calls for you

because you put credence so easily in someone

instead of skepticism at acts of kindness

because kindness was never given to me

never something i knew formally

because i was fed physically

but spiritually i was needy

begging to be cherished

but i never got that

so i write a cliche in the notes

and i wonder why i’ll never be known

so i write a poem in my journal

and i never read it aloud just in case they hear something they can laugh at

then i wonder why i’m hermetic

playing the victim

they haven’t seen me since i was a teen

nor have they thought my name or been keen

to know what i’m up to

but that doesn’t matter anymore

since they’re now just ghosts that haunt me

who they were and what they do doesn’t matter to me

it’s what they said that’ll never leave, you see

they haven’t thought about me in years

but that doesn’t matter cause i’ve still got tears

in my eyes from all the torment

and i wonder if i’m just playing the victim

or if i have the right to grieve

all the confidence i lost to those thieves

but it doesn’t seem to matter in the long run

whether or not you were kind to someone

so i try so hard to make them proud

when they would never even look past the shroud

and i try so hard to make them envy

the life that i put on for show

but no, they don’t care

but it’s not for them anymore

when the cicadas sing

i’m just an observer

not a main character

in a pool of seven billion over

crowded streets and cafes

rainy days and cliches

the moon on a cloudless night

making me feel like a character in a movie that’s not yet made

and i’d like to think i’ll be memorable

and i don’t know why

cause i thought that being forgotten would be a fright

but when it’s midnight

and the cicadas sing sometimes i just want to disappear

peacefully into the clear of the sky

spent a month on my own

cooking in my ground floor home

hearing the creeks of the floorboards

when the neighbors come home

there’s a quiet in the morning

when i make my coffee

so i pretend i’m in a movie

and the camera pans slowly

and i’d like to think i’ll be memorable

and i don’t know why

cause i thought that being forgotten would be a fright

but when it’s midnight

and the cicadas sing sometimes i just want to disappear

peacefully into the clear of the sky

a sad little girl who never looked at the stars

who never counted sheep

but who looked at the deep

at the ocean and wondered how it’d feel for her feet

to sink into the sand

as it swirled where she stands

who wrote in a diary to be remember and grand

and i’d like to think i’ll be memorable

and i don’t know why

cause i thought that being forgotten would be a fright

but when it’s midnight

and the cicadas sing sometimes i just want to disappear

peacefully into the clear of the sky

siren in the sea

he told me that it didn’t matter where you live

that you can find yourself in your hometown, but i disagree

cause maybe he was fine how he was growing up in the city

but i needed to leave to finally grow my seeds

i want to be five million different women

five million different lives

but i’ve only got this one

so it calls to me, like a siren in the sea

the desire to run away and be free

but i’ve got these roots from the saplings i’ve planted

so i stay put, but i’m not at ease

i never learned to drive

i regret that now

cause i live in a place that’s made for cars

and i kinda just wanna drive out to the mountains of pennsylvania

stop at a clearing in the hills and turn the radio on

let out my feelings

but i can’t go off alone cause i can’t drive

and so i’m stuck to cry on public transit

i want to be five million different women

five million different lives

but i’ve only got this one

so it calls to me, like a siren in the sea

the desire to run away and be free

but i’ve got these roots from the saplings i’ve planted

so i stay put, but i’m not at ease

i never stay the same for long

always deleting my posts and starting again

because i think it’ll make me new

because i have a chameleon soul

and a wandering eye

and a lustful sense of pride

so i can’t just be one person at a time

i want to be five million different women

five million different lives

but i’ve only got this one