Fuzzy Nova

My last poem was re-written by my friend Milton. So I took a poem of his and rewrote it. This is his:

Scarecrow

Feast upon me you uncaring carrion crows.

Tear at my hands-
Hands weary of tossing breadcrumbs
Tired of mending black broken wings.

Rip at my ears-
Ears deafened by constant cawing
Numbed from frivolous flapping

Claw at my shoulders-
Shoulders tattered and torn from talons
Stained and soiled with shit.

Feast at my heart-
Heart stilled and silent with solitude,
Drain and drip it dry.

Feed, fatten and fly
Flee the frozen fields
Seek the southern summers.

This is my version:

crows
dark scavengers
feasting on my flesh

my hands are torn and bleeding
having nothing left to offer up
they are weary
no long able to mend your broken wings
they fall to my side
useless
pointless
dead

my ears are unable to hear
deaf to the noise of the world
they cannot hear
my cries
or yours

my shoulders fall
the talons claw
ripping me to shreads
tattered
torn
they are stained with blood
tears
sweat

my heart is bare
my chest now an empty hole
exposed
stilled
silent
the solitude has drained me
left me dying
dead

they feed
fattening their bellies with what was once whole
they flee
unconcerned with my plight
i’m left alone
they move on
different times
different victims
same story

a thought
a dream
a wish
a life
a story
a memory
they’re not mine
they never belonged to me
but I steal them
all of them
all for me
wrapped myself in them
i indulge
i devour
i caress
i destroy
if you wanted them
if they were secret
private things
you should not have misplaced them
take better care of these things
these things you cherished
they have been stolen
grand larceny
they are mine now
i will guard my treasure
i will not treat them so foolishly
lock them up tight
mine
forever
and always

(I was having a conversation with my good friend Milton and ended up writing this poem. I think the two of us may try a new idea where we toss the poem back and forth. We’ll end up hacking it to pieces and reconstructing it. I guess we’ll see what happens. I’ll probably post the results.)

This is Milton’s version:

Life
Memory
not mine
Accessible.
You neglect
Mishandled, misplaced,
Mine to take
you must care
you must cherish
your secret self
your soul center
Fool.
Silently stolen
all of them
all for me
wrangled away
wrapped in them
I indulge
I devour
I caress
I destroy
Mine
I lock
Mine only
I guard
Mine always
I treasure.
Mine forever.

I’ve always read in a million books
That paintbrushes are used to cover
To cover the person I really am
To be my outer shell

I’ve got a secret I need you to know
A secret all about paintbrushes
Please don’t be angry
‘Cause I’m already scared
I’ve lost my only paintbrush

I lost it yesterday while practicing
Being who I really am
I know I could use a mask instead
But I don’t have any at home

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do
I need to go to school
I need to be around all these people
I’m scared and I’m confused

So while I’m at home
Worrying and fretting
While you’re away and safe
Will you please go down to the store
And buy me a brand new paintbrush

I like to sign my letters and notes
Love, Me
Do any of you know what that means?
I like to sign my letters that way
But only I know what it means
I want to be loved
I want to be needed
I want someone to want me
I sign my letter in exactly that way
But sometimes it’s meant as a question
Love Me?
Do you love me?
I love you
I wish you loved me back
I love you
But do you love me too?
I need someone to love me back
Love Me
I beg of you
Won’t anybody ever love me?
I feel as though I love a lot
But nobody loves me back
Now you know why I sign my notes
It’s a question, a call for help
I plead, I be, I ask of you
Won’t you just
Love Me?

I think I’m having an emotional overload
I’m going to have a heart attack
Maybe after that I’ll explode
I don’t know what order it will be
Except for exploding comes last

My parents don’t know what I go through
They take my money and try to run my life
They don’t believe anything I say
They think I hate everything
And that I’m trying to rebel

People at school don’t want to be my friend
They think they are too cool
Peers say they are my friend
But on Friday night I am alone
No friends, no clubs, no dates

I think I’m having a major overload
I am going to have a stroke
I’m going to cry and then I’ll explode
I don’t know what order it happens in
Except that exploding comes last

I was taught acceptance.
I was taught not to judge.
I was taught to turn the other cheek.
I was taught better than this.
Were you?
I thought you were.

I was taught good morals.
I was taught to love on another.
I was taught the golden rule.
I was taught better than this.
Were you?
I thought you were.

You taught me right from wrong.
You taught me what to believe in.
You taught me to love myself for me.
I was taught better than this.
Were you?
I thought you were.