Some Bad Poetry

How is it that we’re never free

And we aren’t like the bird or horse

Who roam about without any worry

Who have no complaints, or suffer remorse 

How is it that we’re always alone?

Even in subways, churches and schools

Our identity will never be fully known

Even if we follow every law, command and rule 

Even the mountains of writing we do

Will never give us the recognition we need

To be complete to both them and you

And make us like the animals, freed 

AND ANOTHER ONE: 

Sometimes I will sit and stare

And wish that I had golden hair

Or sometimes I’d like to be seen

As a beautiful and very wise queen

Maybe I see myself as a wonderful doctor

Or a wise man entering the golden door

Of course I know it couldn’t be true

But I think it’s fun to dream, don’t you? 

NOTE:  In the beginning I wrote my diary only on one side of the paper; on the other side I pasted in little wisdoms from the newspaper but sometimes I drew picture, wrote my own poetry or copied in favorite sayings or poems such as Elizabeth B. Browning’s “How Do I Love Thee?”.  Needless to say there are countless pictures of David Selby, Bobby Sherman and others scattered about (and some even on the main page – LOL )  J  J