Posted on by Trevor Elms

Stubborn Heart Part One.

Previously posted part two first. Didn’t know if this one could be found or if I wanted to. This is one of the angrier things I have written. From my angsty teenage self with unrequited love that I felt I deserved.

Times change.

I don’t believe the person who I wrote this about has read it, and we aren’t in touch so I’m not sure if she ever will. I certainly don’t hold on to these things anymore.

Stubborn Heart Part One.

Fuck me?
Fuck me?

No. Fuck you, Kei.

I was always there for you! Day in, day out!
Waiting for you to come through my door and tell me you needed me.

You never called me! You always had bullshit to do, I had to put forth the effort.
I wanted to see you, I never gave you any reason to be mad at me before!

Then, this one friggin’ time I blow up at all the shit you throw in my way…

you never wanna speak to me again?
Well fuck you too!

I’m sorry I got tired of hearing about your sexcapades.
I am in love with you ya know,
that shit hurts.

It hurts to think about you sleeping with some guy,
seconds before I pass out.

It sucks that your face clutters my fuckin’ head!

So filled with emotions revolved around you!

No, fuck you!

How many times did I tell you how I feel, huh?
You just brushed it off like I was some stranger!
I wasn’t the only one to confess my love for the other in a drunken phone call.

But you never wanted to talk about it.

So as I lift these chains off my demolished, debilitated, destroyed heart.

Fuck you.

I gave everything.
I lost everything.
Fuck you.

Used to think I was empty without you,
you know what I realized?

My life is full.
I have family, friends, and myself.
I don’t need you, guess I never did.

So you know what?

When you want a real man in your life, call me, I might know someone.
But not me, that train left today.

So fuck me Kei, that solved everything.

 

Thank you for reading.

©2008 Trevor Elms
Featured photo by Trevor Elms ©2015
Posted on by Trevor Elms

Don’t Run.

A piece I wrote October 2nd, 2008. I think I wrote this after a disagreement with my parents about something. I got super upset and was called “angry man” again.

For the longest time I thought the way I was expressing myself was okay, and this poem is proof of that. There’s an idea within this poem that is good — but there is still a level of health and safety when it comes to expressing ourselves that I was not capable of at the time.

It’s interesting to look back and literally see me writing about my bi-polar without being able to understand or accept its existence.

Don’t Run.

Emotions ebb and flow, you can’t control where they go —
depression, anger, sadness, they flip flop to and fro.

Frustration fails to forest freedom frequently,
fundamentally factualizing my frequency.

Killin’ and fillin’ me with doubts,
sometimes it feels I got a good-day drought.

But I won’t pout.

I may be drunk, trippin’, or in a six-round bout,

’cause I live life to the fullest, and isn’t that what it’s all about?

I have my morals my friends and my brain,
shit one day I may have some fame.

But as I stand now not every day is the same.

I live, love, and have fun.
And these emotions of mine, I don’t run from.

Thank you for reading.

©2008 Trevor Elms
Featured photo by Trevor Elms ©2016
Posted on by Trevor Elms · 10 Comments

Friggin’ Chicks.

December 14th, 2008. Ugh. This is one of those things I look back on and go — “Well, sure, it’s written decently, but damn. I was really angry at something, and someone.”

I scared a lot of girls away growing up, and I think I got tired of it. I honestly don’t know why I wrote this though. This was written legitimately days before I went crazy.

I honestly have no clue who specifically caused me to write this, but I was clearly upset at her. There is some explicit language in there.

Friggin’ Chicks.

Okay, to the girls, not women who don’t understand.

Instead of cutting me off, ask me why I don’t act how you plan.

I’m a caring person, I like my relationships.

So when it comes to spittin’ game, I got none unless I’m interested.

 

You need to be straight up, and not out of touch.

Ask me, what do you mean? by she talks too much.

This doesn’t mean I need a girl, by no contrary.

I’m perfectly fine, with fuckin’ and strawberries.

But I want a girl who knows how to do it.

My teacher said, the cock never lies.

So no need to get cocked, and wake up with surprise.

 

Damn girls look in my friggin’ eyes.

When I tell you, these ain’t no lies.

 

 

I went crazy, and then I met Megan. So this is probably the last time anything like this will be written.

Thank you for reading.

©2008 Trevor Elms
Featured photo taken by Trevor Elms ©2016
Posted on by Trevor Elms

Why Do I Hate Mondays?

From a 5-minute writing prompt in my college English class about why we hated Mondays. Written September 22nd, 2008. I think a Sunday is as good as any other to get this one posted. I don’t distaste Mondays nearly as much any more, but this one was a particularly frustrating one. I was a pretty angry person in general at this time as well.

Why Do I Hate Mondays?

Because I have a case of the Mondays.

My anti-Christ alarm clock makes my hungover head bleed!

I smash it over and over to shut the fuck up but eventually am forced to stumble out of bed,

to fulfill my Dumbday obligations.

I shuffle out of my boiling-hot dorm room to take a shower,

I forgot the friggin’ key!

Now I have to trudge downstairs in my boxers, shampoo, towel, with freakin’ luffa in hand to grab a spare.

When I finally get into the bathroom,

the same asshole has left his stuff everywhere again!

Sucks to be him, I’m pissed so his shit gets thrown,
maybe it broke, I don’t care.

When I finally get out of the shower refreshed and calm…

I realize I’ve smoked all my green the nights before.

No wake and bake?
Fuck Mondays!

Finally have everything ready, headed to class on the moped,
and the damn thing breaks down half-way.

Seriously! What kind of bad karma could I have attracted for this day to go ANY better!

 

 

I still remember scribbling this down furiously in my class. I couldn’t wait to boisterously recite it. It made me feel much better, as did my friends later that day. My friend, Gavin, got to hear this in person the day of.

Thank you for reading.

©2008 Trevor Elms
Featured photo taken 8 days after writing this poem. Photo by Kisa Vanderford ©2008