I like to think about things
On the gloomy, dark and stormy day, like today
When I am trapped in the house
Sometimes I don’t recognize my own reflection
Then I remember it is not even me
I fit in this face so perfectly
They think that this person was me
The shoe shrunk, and the school belt got ridiculously petit
Acquiescent little obedient creature
Couldn’t understand what this sorcery was
Still, the freckles on her pale skin
Reminds me of her summer's swing
I do not want this frame
I am barely even enjoying their game.
I killed a bee too, last Thursday
I don't like the feeling of killing
Look at me, it was not my fault
I was just ...
“You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style.”
~ Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
Do you have a favorite poem? Let me know in the comment section below.