The Vent 3

This is really an email I wrote to a good friend, but I believe
that it qualifies as a vent


theres moments in my life when i feel completely out of place,
 i just cant relate to the experiences of people around
its so much different when youre on the outside looking in
i dont know if i want to belong...its almost an hypothetical 
question. i want to belong within myself, but i cant find a 
place where i am comfortable


i wanna study biochemistry and human biology
i wanna read poetry to someone i love
i wanna own a pair of blue shoes
i wanna have a bestfriend that i can call whenever i remember
a silly joke


im not sure as to exactly why i have written the preceeding...
i know im not like a lot of other people ( but than again is 
anyone?), but previous situations have dictated my 
transgression bear with me james, its just one of those nights
when huge expanses of blurred vision are marked with 
split-second windows of absolute clarity

i cant relate to these relationship fiascos, you and sonia, 
matt and erin, jen and eddy, they are foreign to me, yet 
everyone thinks i "understand"...how odd this world is

god, why is everything so utterly inexpoundable

i think im going to start hanging out in java houses and 
writing journals...drinking black coffee and reading abstract 
poetry


why does it feel so good?

That was the email, but i feel like adding some more stuff.
This is a poem i wrote to a good friend of mine whom i cared
about a lot, and despite attempts to hate him, still care about.
Can't we all just be friends (yeah right)?
Anyway, i found it the other day and just wanted to post it.
Here it is:


o, if i could capture you in a bottle
how i would sit and stare and speculate
analyze the colour of you, the texture of you
smell you
touch you
taste you
and just when i think i completely understand you
i notice a different shade
and i smile


yeah, im a helpless romantic, so sue me

the other week, i was labeled an idealist. I would love to 
argue and verbalize opposing information, but there's no point
in me struggling to challenge the truth.... i can't help it. 
I can't believe paul is gone....the one true, brave innocent.
  We two idealists in a sea of.....pragmatists....

GOSH DARN IT , I DONT WANT TO BE A PART OF THE RAT-RACE!!!
the clatter of coins in business mens pockets and the piercing
echo of pumps in subway halls is insincere. They are tinted with
dishonesty and confusion

i would like to see myself twenty years from now....hahahaha