I try to get to school at 7:45 but show up at 8:00 I also have 50% attendance but I still have my 3.9 GPA

I've written this poem a thousand times 

Thomas Edison said that he tried to make a lightbulb a thousand times and he finally got it on a thousand and one. 

Well I guess I'm still on a thousand because this sure isn't a lightbulb. 

I always try my best, to look my best. But that vest doesn't look good on my chest when I had no rest the night before..... And the night before that.... And I spent a day living out of a suit case. (So I'm sorry if I smell). It's not as great as they say it is. But don't take my word for it. Because I didn't traveling to fulfill a dream. I went traveling because I had no place to stay. Because the doors to my home were closed to me and I was no longer welcome. 

Sometimes I ask myself where's my six pack. Because I work out everyday. And I eat nothing but almonds and kale. Maybe it's the almonds or maybe it's because I don't really laugh anymore. 

Come back tomorrow so that you can hear poem number one thousand and one. But knowing my luck my greatest work would be one thousand and two. Perhaps even Thomas Edison would have given up after one thousand and one. 

I forget

I forgot almost all of sixth grade. 

I forgot my best friends phone number. 

I forgot to wear warm pants during the winter. 

I will never forget February 2nd 2015. 

I remember you, but I'm trying to forget. 

No Time To Chat

Sorry no time to chat. I am working on my gift.

When I grow Up

When I grow up,

I want to be a millionare.

I want to eat chocolate cake everyday. 

I want to be married like my 2nd grade teacher is. 

When I grow up. 

I want to make money.
I want a great career.
I want to be liked.

When I grow up?
I want just enough money to survive.
I want to fill my life with something.
I want somewhere I can be me.

Now that I have grown up.
I forget about wishes I made when I was ten.
I want to be happy. No.
I want you to be happy.

I am different than I wished for.
But thats because I spent my life wishing for the wrong things.
I wished for me.
But now I wish for you.

This is the birthday letter I never sent.

Liar, Liar, My Trousers Are On Fire.

I have written this over and over again.
Each time with a different spin.
This is the chance to lie about who I am.
This is the chance to justify what I have written.
This is the chance to rationalize myself to you.
Maybe I am just crazy.
Maybe I am unrealistically sane.
Whatever I am.
That is what I am.
I am Thomas Edward Holdman Jr.
Son of Thomas Edward Holdman Sr.
Who is the son of William Floyd Holdman
And he is the son of the late William James Holdman.
Anyways thats my name.
And thats my lineage.
But that is not who I am.
I am what I have written.
For better or worse.
So now you know my name.
But if you read my work.
You already knew me.

Deafening Sound

Sometimes.

Only sometimes.

Well, I suppose you could say often.

So Yes.

I often.

More than I should.

Listen to songs that pull at my heart.

Because I believe that my heart was made.

I believe it was made to make music.

So I listen to these all of these melancholy songs.

Hoping that my heart will play back.

Because I would rather hear my heart preform on tiny violins.

Than to hear the pounding silence. 

Tender Age

I was going to write (and complain) about how my parents treat me. I was going to write about how I am a legal adult and can make my own choices., but that all changed when I ran out of gas this morning. It all changed when I was helpless.

I ran out of gas on the freeway. 

I got out of my car and walked. 

I walked for two miles and no one would stop. 

Till a ,very suddenly, haggard time worn minivan came to a agitated stop beside me. 

Inside this van was an equally time worn, haggard man. 

In any other situation I would have shied away from this man.
His eyes seemed lost and his speech was slow.
I thought he had nothing to offer me but a ride to the nearest station.
I was in need, so I accepted.

We came to the station and it was closed.
Why wouldn't it be on that cold early Sunday morning?
Even though it was out of his way the haggard man drove me farther down the road.
I was grateful for him but still upset at the situation.
We keep pleasant conversation but I didn't think much of it.
Because it was hard for me to understand his slow speech.
I felt rushed because I believed I had places to be.
I was still polite, of course, but I wasn't fully invested.

In the end we retrieved the much needed gas and returned to my car.
Which was at that point  was far away in a different city.
As we filled my car he talked bout his wife and the wonderful story he now had to share.
He proceeded to recount everything we talked about, in order, and with emphasis on my goodness.
I was shocked.
While I was busy being upset by my situation this man was delighted.
He wasn't delighted with my misfortune, his delight the chance to meet me.
I am still a little surprised he went so far out of his way to help me.
But I am equally not surprised.
It wasn't the middle aged man in his expensive Lexus that stopped.
It wasn't the soccer mom in her new sports utility vehicle.
It wasn't the able bodied father with his family.
It was an eighty year old man.
In a tired old van.
This man remembered my hopes and dreams.
He remembered my concerns for the future.
He cared.

I feel ashamed.
Because as I drove away.
I couldn't even remember his name.
I thought I was the tender age.
I thought I was deserving of compassion.
But I am not.
I am hard as stone.
This man is the tender one.
Because his heart was open and mine was closed.