I am all but forgotten
in the minds of many.
A mere shadow in the subconscious
of a careless mind.
Why throw stones?
I rather like the smell of forget-me-nots.
Why break bones?
I rather like the idea of mending hearts.
I am but a silhouette
to the average passer-by.
A mere hindrance in their
quest for perfect lives.
Have I lost my mind?
I rather like the sound of insanity.
Is kindness a crime?
I rather like the idea of humanity.
[I haven’t been writing poetry for very long. I mean, I started writing songs when I was ten or eleven, and I guess that counts as poetry to some extent, but this poem – which I wrote in a grade 10 accounting class while I was meant to be paying attention – was the first one I wrote where I felt like, Hey, I might actually like doing this.]