From start to finish...

The other day I found my old poetry book, and upon reading it I couldn't help but cringe.

Could anyone have seen this? Lying under the pile of crap that is my unfinished scrapbook from my 2008 travels. Furthermore, do I ever finish anything I start? This is worrying...

I bought a bicycle to learn how to ride again, this was early 2011.

It arrived via a courier in your stock standard white van that resembles what I imagine a pedophile to drive, this is obviously not important. The point is that I put that bicycle together that day, the bell was broken (you pedophile van driving bastard). And within the next couple of days I attempted to ride my fire engine red bicycle, glorious a moment as this should have been the wheels didn't seem to work (who put this shit together?). I soon had my father fix the wheel issue and I proceeded to cycle around the court, 2 or 3 times...

I went into the garage the other day and saw my bicycle, with it's broken bell and wicker basket, it has been a year since I even looked at it. Under the layer of dust and cobwebs, I'm positive it still glistens in sunlight.

I won a Banjo on Ebay the other day, it should arrive in the mail soon. I can't wait to learn an instrument, I was a natural on the old Organ when I taught myself to play as a kid, from memory I played it for quite a few months. I also had my parents buy an Acoustic Guitar second hand from a classmate in High school, my brother enjoyed playing it, I finally hand it returned to me a couple days ago, about 8 years too late.

But seriously, the Banjo is going to be fun. All I have left to do is keep my eye out for the friendly neighbourhood delivery man, in his pedophile van.

Here's some poetry:

Lost in thoughts of love. 2003.

I cry, do you see the tears?

I'm making the river, drowning in my own thoughts.

Will I not find my heart, will I never feel love?

Will I always be in pain, be scared, be alone.
I do not float, just keep going under,

Yet I never hit the bottom.

I am still alive with this disability to love,

I am here and remain thinking, pain never stops.

For my life is a puzzle, that has shattered to the floor,

I'm getting it back together, although it is hard;

For one piece is missing, it has disappeared,

And this piece, it is my heart.

I can not feel love, nor be loved in return,

Do you see my problem? I can not get what I desire.

I can not be held nor touched, I am forbidden,

For my ability to love is gone, it is lost.

So I still remain thinking, and I cry,

I'm in my river of tears for I am alone.

Hoping to find the missing piece, wanting to be alive again.

I want to love and be loved in return.

I wrote that little diddy when I was 16 years old, I think at that point in time I had kissed about two boys. But that right there is intense.

Furthermore, there is plenty more poetry where that came from, I just don't care for the embarrassment.

&.the.bohemian.girl. xx.