Poem Without Words

These are just random thoughts, saying nothing much or nothing at all.
I feel so good because
1. My English class was canceled. At least I think it was, because the teacher
wasn't in there when I went.
2. I just finished reading a good book.
3. I can't think of another.
If asked why I don't feel good, I'll have a lot more reasons.
I've been wasting so much precious time lately. I haven't even written in my journal book, but nothing much is happening to keep record of.
I have a presentation coming up next week and I don't know who I should dress like yet. I'm all excited about it, but I can't find time to work on it.
I have been receiving phone calls from a person who doesn't want to tell me who he is. I don't like it because it makes me feel as if he is watching every step I take.
I think staying awake all night will help me think better. I love the silence of the night, and the blackness of the dark. It makes me feel protected.
Below is a poem I found when I went home. I decided to put it on this post because it reminded me of times when I should have written something and I didn't do it. Sometimes I feel glad that I didn't do it because if I did it, I would feel much worse. If I did it, I don't know how things would be.

I wanted to write you some words you’d remember
words so alert they’d leap from the paper
and crawl up your shoulder and lie by your ears
and be there to comfort you down through the years.
But it was cloudy that day and I was lazy
and so I stayed in bed just thinking about it.

I wanted to write you and tell you that maybe
love songs from lovers are unnecessary.
We are what we feel and writing it down
seems foolish sometimes without vocal sound.
But I spent the day drinking coffee, thinking about it
and looking in the mirror practicing my smile.

I wanted to write you one last, long love song
that said what I feel one final time.
Not comparing your eyes and mouth to the stars
but telling you only how like yourself you are.
But by the time I thought of it, found a pen and paper,
put the pen to the paper,
you were gone.

And so, this poem has no words.

That was too bad. Wasted time. Just how I wasted and am wasting mine.