Coming and going

I'm leaving tomorrow I guess. It feels kind of surreal. I know I can't stay here but there's a part of me that wants to because I'm scared of going. Things are going to be new and different. And hey, it's only for 4 months. I can handle that. Besides, this is something I have wanted to do for a long time, and I am looking forward to it. It's time. It's like knowing I can't go back to camp; as much as I want to go, it's not the right place for me. I have to move on. As much as I love the place, staying there would be wrong. It would be bad. Sometimes people tell me not to close doors, not to say with finality that I am not going back, but those people are being stupid. I have to close those doors, because if I don't, the temptation to walk through them again is strong. It's easier to have them closed, where they tempt me less and the force that I heave them shut with swings open other doors. I know when things are right. Camp is not one of those things, and probably never will be again. And I'm okay with that now. I'll come home when it is time again to go home.

Sometimes I'm terrible

Sometimes I'm impatient, and
Sometimes I'm terrible
Sometimes I wonder what people think of me, and
Sometimes I don't care
Days like this I feel selfish, because
Days like this I want you
(more specifically, your body, or
more specifically, your hands and face)
Sometimes I'm cold, and
Sometimes I'm crazy
I think that desire is frustrating, and
I think I don't like myself tonight
Which is why I feel a hypocrite, and
Which is why I want you to want me anyway



This poem is not about who you think.
Sometimes I'm base.