This can’t be considered Poetry. Can it?


I don’t know where this came from.

Late last night I started writing, while also listening to a loop of Far From Any Road by The Handsome Family (You may know it as the theme song to True Detective).  I cleared my mind and wrote whatever my finger tips came out with.  I wanted the words to be statements of who I am and how I think.  I wanted to be honest to my core.

I didn’t set out to create poetry.  Nor do I consider this poetry, I have no idea what to call it.  There is no rhyme, just four lines of thoughts. It doesn’t describe a random rusty gate, or the dew drops on rose petals.  Nothing like that at all really.

It felt dark, but it also felt real.  I was going to delete it, but I opted for this instead.  Why not, right?

So whatever this is, it’s what I had to say during a rare moment of clarity.  It’s not meant as one long reading.  It’s five random thoughts and nothing more.


I’m not afraid of death.

Shouldn’t I be?

Fear is an emotion that escapes me.

Could this be my worst fault?



I have more internal monologue than external.

I always have.

The picture show never stops running.

And I like to entertain myself.



I would change one thing in my past.

I’d tell myself it’s impossible to know everything;

And to always seek knowledge.

I started late, but I’m happy I did.



I’m too cynical.

I don’t think I was always like this.

Or maybe I was, and I wasn’t being honest.

Either way, I’d like to change it.



How much is too much?

When it comes to oxygen, never I suppose.

What about money?

If you answer a certain amount, you aren’t satisfied.



As always,

Do Something Good,


One thought on “This can’t be considered Poetry. Can it?

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