London journals, Part I

So...yep. I'm in London. Part of our assignments are to journal every day...yesterday I realized how sick I am of journaling so I decided to spice it up a bit. Yes, it's true, I jumped on the haiku bandwagon. These are the ones I wrote last night...to give you a taste of how things are going -


I want to fit in
Less than I want to stand out
At least, I think so

Today, my socks matched
For the fist time in three years
Didn't want strange looks

They look like they've lost
Individuality
I guess that's the point

Now my eyes feel tired
I think it's because they're bored
Of my feet, both green.




Boobs! Boobs! Boobs! Boobs! Boobs!
Turn the page tentatively
Boobs! Boobs! Boobs! Boobs! Boobs!

British newspapers
Are much more interesting
Than American.





My violin sits
In her case, alone and sad
Breathing the stale air

Her strings have gone sharp
Pegs expanded in the heat
Of newborn summer.

She's a scorned lover
Needing touch of caring hands
I'm cheating on her.


________________



Tonight I farted
On my host family's couch
I felt bad for it.




How do British cars
Not run into each other
With roads so damn small?

This one's pretty wide
With two whole inches to spare
Good thing no one's drunk.





I feel poetic
When I'm depressed and seeing
With cynical eyes.

Being depressed here
Is hard - there are too many
Cute boys with accents.





Monday I'm going
To Liverpool with Tracey
If we find the train.

I hope Ringo's there
So I can tell him how good
He looks in purple.





Today, I ordered
My very first dacqueri
It tasted like puke.