Imperfect Poet

Poetry, short stories and other things.


December 2015

The sound of music.

I have a very wide range of VERY different friends.

From drama queens, the girly girls, the rugby guys and the party starters to the bookworms, the couch potatoes, the musicians, the board game geeks, the Potter heads, pot heads and even the armature DJ, I have befriended at least one or two of each.

And i love them all to bits.

Their different personalities and preferences and interests have taught me a lot of things, one of which is that being yourself and speaking your mind is the best damned way to be and the best damned way to speak. They all have a very different perspective of life, they all reason differently and they all feel strongly about different things, whether it might be rugby, playing guitar, producing music, listening to rock music or reading books, I respect them all.

The hard thing of having such a variety of friends is getting them all to be in the same room for an hour without any fights about whether John Green or J.K. Rowling is the better writer, because different interests obviously means different tastes in books, music, films and people.

But the most important of these is music.

I find myself quite often having to hear: “Oh my word, is she seriously listening to that new song by 1D?” or : “Ew, I can’t believe we are friends, how have you not listened to any of Jimi Hendrix’s music?” and I find it quite exhausting. It is not like I go around accusing people of being awful human beings because they do not know who The Oh Hellos is. I do not know whether it has always been this way, yet it seems like these days you cannot express your thoughts on your favorite music genre without being insulted about it. The sad part is that it is more frequently the rock, blues and indie lovers(who I am one of) who go around telling people that there is no other genre as good as the one that they love.

More frequently do I find myself wanting to yell: “No one is forcing you to listen to my music so please stop trying to force me into liking your music!”. I find that people are feeling offended when somebody else dislike the music that they like and the word “bad-music-taste” is being thrown around too often.

I believe that there is no such thing as a bad taste in music. There is merely the music you like and people who enjoy a similar or different genre to yours and I think that we aught to respect that.

No taste in music is better than an other just as you disliking something does not mean that that thing is a bad thing.

I believe that no one should be judged based on the sound of music that makes them smile and no sound of music should be judged based on whether it makes you smile.


An unworthy spectator.

Speechless she stares at the

beautiful sight before her eyes.

She wishes to write down

what she sees,

yet the words refuse to form in her

foggy mind.

She would not dare to

explain the complex beauty

of the gloss-like dams

or the colossal mountain

towering over  them,

nor could she ever be able

to capture the light of the sun,

flickering through the trees as she drives,

on paper.

Oh what great injustice it would be,


her words are not worthy

to capture this

intense beauty.

Knowing you.

From the very beginning I knew the torment that would be in store for me if I did not refuse to feel and think this way about you.

I knew that your heart would always be too far to snatch away.You were, and are always just an arm length away, yet you would never let me touch your heart. There would always be another that caught your eye like I would never be able to and another that snatched your heart away right before I could, or can.

I waited patiently.

I walked with you, next to you, close to you. I faced your trails with you, I advised you, I was the one who lifted your spirits after she, or they, crushed your heart. The very heart that I was, and am, longing to hold.

Yet I know that another future will arise and with that a less painful past. Yet my thoughts cannot help but linger on my desire to have your heart, even if it ends in heartbreak, for at least then I would know that a better future awaits me.

Yet  now, I must trust that a future without your love it is a bright one.

Or I shall forever linger on the past  and the heartbreak of knowing you.

No season is perfect.

Summer is not all it is made out to be.

The exams are finally finished and the school year has officially come to an end for the most of us. It is time to lay back, unwind, relax  and get some sleep for once. Sleep uninterrupted by an alarm clock going off at six in the morning or worse, by dreams of failing the exams or waking up at three in the morning and remembering you forgot to  study the last chapter of  your assigned novel.

At least the weather only started to become this hot after the exams. Luckily we did not have to try to memorize Mark-Antony’s entire speech in this terrible heat.

The thick, humid air and the scalding heat of the sun makes me long for the cool days of fall. Orange leaves on on the ground and the grey skies that were occasionally lit by a few beams of sunlight breaking  through the icky clouds. Leaves clinging to the wet grass, refusing to be gathered around.

Oh how I long for the cold days of winter. I long for the rainy days of June when I could stay in bed all day, rapped in my cozy blankets, only lifting my nose out of a book about a reality better than mine to fetch myself something to eat or a warm cup of tea. Oh how the dark foggy sky kept reminding me of all that is wrong in this world and all that is wrong in my head and all that is wrong in me… And how the rain drops reminded me to cry, for who was I to hold back when even the sky couldn’t always be strong.

Perhaps the lovely days of September and spring where the best after all. The sun makes his glorious appearance after a icy winter, birds finally sing again after the deafening silence that winter brings and there are no leaves scattered all over the back yard. Beautiful flowers cover every lawn and with that comes butterflies and… hey fever and sneezing and sinus…

Then after the sinus and sneezing and the lovely, balanced weather have come to pass we are here, in summer. The sun bakes you ether beautifully olive or a unfortunate shade of red. After all, summer is only fun when you are at the beach, reading a book while tanning next to the pool or if you are on a trip, pun intended. Yet summer a the beach is quite wonderful: Laying stretched out on your beach towel listening as the waves crash into the sand again and again as if the ocean is never quite satisfied with the beating that it is giving the beach. Then going home after a lovely day at the beach and discovering that you have forgotten to put on any sunscreen and that you are now a brilliant shade of red…

Let us rather face the saddening truth: no season is perfect.

No season is all that it is made out to be. And just like us, no season is supposed to be.

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