Poems...possibly angsty.

I ran out of pages in my journal.
I need a new one.
I don't know what I'm supposed to do with this one.
Toss it in a book pile somewhere?
But
before I do
I will share
the (possibly angsty) "poems"
I have written
from my book.

-----------------
These tears that
I swear aren't mine
come from a place that
I don't know.
But I feel the weight
in my chest
The scorching warmth
in my eyes

I don't know why they
chose me
why through
my face must they fall

It is through them that
I feel sadness
my solitude and my fears


But I did not call them here.

-----------------
This is not my book
I'm sorry I took it
I'm sorry I need it
I'm sorry I don't know what to say.

This isn't my book
But these are my words
My feelings, my confusion
my stream of consciousness.

Forgive me.
------------------
(This one even I consider angsty)

I am a monster
a demon
a child of wrath & scorn

I am a man
a sinner
a tool of work & toil

I am a boy
alone
and I'm afraid of the night

I am a twist
a swirl
a blend of wrong and right

I am unknown to myself
But still a whole part
A mystery, an enigma
But one I can't live without.
--------------
(Continued angsty)

I speak to myself
I speak for my regret
I speak of my wrongs
I speak to forget

What am I?
Who am I?
What have I become?

Am I a man?
Or a monster?
Or have the two become one?

Hate me, scorn me
Beat me, kick me, shove me.
Burn me, cut me
But don't tell me that you love me.
-----------------
(I gave you fair warning
It's almost over
This one I don't find angsty at all)

I've seen
so many
beautiful women
today.

I've seen
so many things
to make
my heart sway

I saw a girl
that I thought left before
But as I watched
her leave 5 stops later
I thought
What was I waiting for?

She had
all the right
features
long hair
pretty fingers

And she walked
with a sway
that said fun
beyond bleachers

So I wish
I had spoken
Instead of sitting
here now
Writing out
all these feelings

At a bar
rather dim
on a small
piece of paper
Are the words
never told
to my friends
or to strangers

Just this book showing me
That unless I learn to act
That I will always be carrying
it around
in my back.

-----------
(Last one, I promise)

Caught in my daytime reverie
I remember you there with me
As we sat on grey step benches
with open fields and baseball fences

I remember the way you smiled
And I wanted to stay there awhile
In that place where we once roamed
so very far away from home

I remember you taught card tricks
and I knew, but to shy to ask
But then again you taught me anyway.
[unfinished]

------------

That's it.
Painful to read, I'm sure.
But
I told myself I would no longer be ashamed of my writing.
I have to let it live.
And so I will.
And I will continue to write
(soon as a find a new book)
And hope that it gets better.