2 Poems that mention physical disconnection

This body has too many limbs,
And there’s no-where to put them
That much I know

As I sit on the bus waiting to get home
Waiting to arrive at a sanctuary
That I can’t bear to be in, because it’s never been shared
Strip lights glare above me,
And I can hear people laughing

I’m not really part of this,
It’s just a bad dream I’ll eventually wake up from.

I live from awkwardness
I live knowing that whatever happens
Whoever I’m with,
Something will never be right

I have no childhood best friend,
No potential best man, for my imaginary wedding
As much as tell myself:
“There is always hope
There is always possibilities of finding that little patch of earth
Where you’ll arrive and want to spend the rest of your life”
I still can’t help feeling bitter
Still can’t help feeling robbed of something worthwhile
Something that will allow my day
To
Day
Experience, to be less mediocre
Less barren
And less angry

I know I’ll never finish these words
I know I’ll never stop searching for the right ones that will connect me to the rest of everbody
The rest of everything.

[b]Am I capable of love?
I don’t trust my body.
I am weary, somewhere deep down,
And it’s rising and eating me up.

I only hear the string arrangements when I watch films.
I no longer get excited when I go to gigs.
I haven’t cuddled in months.
I am one million miles away.

I often can’t get up in the morning.
There are no people I want to see in this town.
I don’t know if I am still capable of love.
I have disengaged.

I want to get married and have kids.
I have writers block.
I don’t know how to express myself.
I am twitchy.

I play air-drums.
I am not listening.
I am not interested.
I am not interesting.

I am lonely.
I want someone to look after me.
I want someone to tell me there’s nothing wrong with me.
I don’t want to be alone tonight (or tomorrow night, or the night after that).

I don’t want to go to gigs alone anymore.
I want someone to hear me sing (my own songs).
I am tired… deep, deep down… in my bones.
I can’t be who I want to be.

I hear everything as white noise.
I hear everything as white noise.
I hear everything as white noise.[/b]

I was gonna say(based on the presumption they`re your poems)

Highly [size=50](to the power of10)[/size]intelligent with a multifaceted creative streak a mile wide, and only 18 to boot!! None of the above comes as any surprise.

But you don`t claim them as yours. Are they?
vic

They are mine. Thank you very very much!

#2 reminds me of my days pre-Mrs. There were not many of them and I do not miss them. Makes me appreciate what I have. Thank you.