❀
CLICHÈ:
Sweet. It's like a battle of the threads.
Sorry. I do the commentary thing all the time. Hi. I don't want to interrupt your slam conversation (I've been wanting to see it for years, but my area is too suburban for it), but I know of another good poet. I don't think that at first glance he would be considered a poet, but one of his books really struck me. His name is David Levithan, he wrote Boy Meets boy, co-wrote Norah & Nick, and my personal favorite, The Realm of Possibility, which is twenty first person perspectives of teenagers who go tothe same high school. Some of them are stories, some of them are just writings, but it's all poetry. This is from the last chapter, from a character called Jed.
Here's what I know about the realm of possibility-
it is always expanding, it is never what you think
it is. Everything around us was once deemed
impossible. From the airplane overhead to
the phones in our pockets to the choir girl
putting her arm around the metalhead.
As hard as it is for us to see sometimes, we all exist
within the realm of possibility. Most of the limits
are of our own world's decising. And yet,
every day we each do so many things
that were once impossible to us.
There are hundreds of reasons for Daniel and me
to be impossible. History has not been kind
to two boys who live each other like we do.
But putting that aside. And not even considering
the fact that a hundred and fifty years ago,
his family was in a small town in Russia
and my family was in a similarly small town
in Ireland- I can't imagine they could have
imagined us here, together. Forgetting our gender,
ignoring all the strange roads that led to us
being in the same time and place, there is still
the simple impossibility of love. That all of our
contradicting securities and insecurities,
interests and disinterests, beliefs and doubts
could somehow translate into this common
uncommon affection should be as impossible
as walking to the moon. But instead, I love him.
...
It has been a year now. The most understandable
thing in the world should be how minutes lead to
hours, how hours lead to days, how days can make
a year. And yet, this neat progression can still be
surprising. A year seems too monumental for us
to have reached, and at the same time too small
to contain all the minutes and hours and days
we've had together. We sat each month down
like a marker beside the road, small aniversaries
with the feeling of always moving forward.
...
How do you commemorate a year?
A paper anniverssary, but we are
the words written down, not the paper.
If I could, I wouldgive him
a lime green couch, a cabin by a lake,
a fireworkds display, an orchard of butterflies,
and the certainty that I love him.
There is certainty in a ring.
The non-ending, the non-beginning.
The ongoingo.
The way it holds on to you
not because it's been fastened
or stretched or adhered.
It holds on
because it fits.
...
I think he writes beautifully and sometimes I can't even remember that he is the one writing, rather than the character. Just giving some input =]
NOUN. A VERY PREDICTABLE OR UNORIGINAL THING OR PERSON