Navigating with a Notepad (Poetry)

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I’m trying to sit in the dark,
Late at night, staring out at the stars,
While sorting out my thoughts to write another poem.
Yeah, it might sound like the same old song,
But the pen and pad are the only things I can depend on.
It’s hard to have family and friends
Who can’t see or understand any of my social problems.
Some days I’m quietly awkward,
Other days I’m rudely obnoxious.
Maybe I’m a good actor,
Or maybe, I just don’t know how to act.
I am sure people think I am just playin’
To get money from the government,
But if I was doing that,
I’d apply for other assistance,
Along with food stamps.
I don’t want any of that,
I just want to live peacefully before I’m dead.
If I was faking my problems,
I wouldn’t have prolonged my issues from 2009,
Or even longer, like…

…my whole life…

…I wouldn’t still be walking that fragile line.
People just rather be blind,
To the facts of my short term memory distortion,
My insomnia, and the voices in my conscience,
That transfers through my body, to my fingers,
To the pen to form these words on this notepad.
In my eyes, I don’t see insecurity with my vulnerability.
If that was the case, I wouldn’t have the courage to share my story.
So what if I am a bit sensitive or even a bit pensive,
My depression and anxiety has always been repetitive,
I’ve accepted these anti-socializing traits,
The best of this world’s artists can relate.
I am sure other kids can to, but too scared to navigate,
And get lost deep inside their heart,
Emotions, and words to collate, in return create this art.
So if you’re afraid, just turn to my unique poetic philosophy, Descartes.
I wish people would stop being concern about how the world looks at me,
I’ll be the executive producer of my decisions and consequence,
Revealing the tattoos and scars that live deep down in my heart.
It’s my skin. It’s my ill mind. It’s my life.

So I’ll keep dishing these poems like my pen is a spoon or fork,
Because it seems it’s the only therapy that truly works.
So if you think I am writing to ask for help,
I’m not. By the time this poem ends, I’ll be my better self.
I just want to thank you for reading and listening,
To my rhymes, my provocative conditioning.

2014 ©H.M. Gautsch

Let Me Have The Last Dance (Poetry)

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The day we met.
Instant attraction,
The sparks remain in flight.
I can’t deny you.
I’m your type,
And you’re my kind of guy.
So why do we fear,
Of what’s right in front of us?

Fear of love and our love of fear,
Due to our own battle scars and cuts.
Let us open these wounds,
Be vulnerable together.
Can you imagine?
Any other picture perfect love affair?
Let my confidence speak.
I can be the best you’ve had,
And you for me.
The understanding and communication,
Of our personal demons,
Goes afar across the seas.
And around the world.
Let’s conquer and overcome as one.
Believe me when I tell you who I see,
When I look right through you.
Balance the emotional and sexual healing,
With intellectual revealing.
Game of chance,
Let me have the last dance.
2014©H.M. Gautsch

As I Lie Awake (Poetry)

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Eagerly waiting on what dreams

Waits for me on this…
Cool and collected mid-summer nigh’.
To welcome my request into fantasy
Crickets whistle slowly fades,
I am delivered into a refreshing ride.
As I lie awake,
Hypnosis transfers my surreal mind,
Touches my emotions, as I fall asleep.
I’m battling between two comas,
Two separate lives.
In confusion, new scenery comes to life.
I am aware,
But my other life remains in control.
I allow it like a child lost in a book.
Are dreams just pure fantasies?
Or reality waiting
For the time to be revealed for a purpose.
Taking notes on each episode,
For each season.
To the illusion of what’s to hold.
2014©H.M. Gautsch