I've been going through some of my old notebooks and I'm discovering some cringeworthy entries. Truth be told, I have a knack for composing the kind of limericks that usually can only be found in an LFO album. Which only reinforces the overwhelming consensus from my peers that my future in writing is limited to tampon advertisements. Let me take this opportunity to inform those naysayers that tampon ad's do require the skill of an adept writer. Those spots are challenging, bring about writer's block that only a fervent diligence in the art of writing can dislodge. It takes a skilled wordsmith to stimulate a free-flow of insight, that will eventually absorb the attention of the consumer. Even if my writing career is confined to the feminine products industry, I still intend to make an indelible mark. So all of my critics, which I presume to be red with envy, should pad their arguments before they attempt to trivialize my pursuits. Let's get on with my humiliation shall we?
First up, 'Amber'. Is this a heartfelt birthday poem for a friend of my past or the lyrics to a Daniel Powter song? Hell if I know!
Amber (birthday)
Amber is the color of
a tropical sunrise
lamp lit streets
and warm pumpkin pies
Amber is the color of
a Bengal tigers eyes
traffic lights
and burnt summer skies
Amber is the color of
October and the edges of dimes
a girl who is beautiful
but hasn't heard it enough times
Amber is the color of
a girl who gives good advice
whenever I need it
and never thinks twice
Amber is the color of
a love that never dies
a girl who is pretty
even when she cries
(I actually deleted the last four stanzas for anonymity as well as brevity, I mean, how long should this have gone on?)
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