I’ll Have Damned This Poem

Tonight, I

Feel like the guitarist

Whose finger slips from

The string in the midst of his



Sweet should it be

To sing and to believe

That I’m alive,

But alas, it isn’t,



I feel too large

For my room so I lay

In the larger room of the



Playing guitar

Softly as if to keep

Some pocket of silence

In the corners of the walls



Is it a matter of

Gaining self-worth?

Is such a thing

Worth gaining?


Is it entirely mad

That I feel both selfish

And vacant,



Yet too crowded,



But so full my stomach



I can’t sing

As I am a bird

With clipped wings.


I can’t seem to

Get any satisfaction

From reading or losing myself

In this poetry.


The sky is still cold,

My roommate still lingers,

And I still have not a friend who

I can say I love.


Of course, there are


But it is me I do not love,

Myself I feel alone with,

Only me who has to


With this poetry,


For who else is to read

Of it?


I wouldn’t damn a soul

To this poetry.


One thought on “I’ll Have Damned This Poem

  1. No expressions of the soul are damning to those who read it, so perhaps look not for love of self yet but first see if you can find acceptance of self then ponder the more complex concepts of love, hate, joy, peace, and such.


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