I Wrote a Poem!

Actually, I've written a lot of them. But the majority of them were written in high school and should be burned. Even most those written after high school were nothing special, at least not in my opinion. And over the past couple years, I haven't written much of anything. However, not too long ago, I decided to try writing a new poem. And I actually like it myself! I mean, it could probably use some revision at some point, but for now, I'm ok with it as it is.
So anyways, being I'm not likely ever try publishing poetry and I need to get something new posted here, I'm going to share it.

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Every blond hair a soldier
laying about my house,
waiting in ambush
to launch surprise attacks
I thought I had defenses against.
Their weapons are memories
(of what was) and reminders
(of what can no longer be).

One got me on the couch
the other day
right as I sat down to watch t.v.
He unloaded a barrage of images
of us
next to each other and laughing
entire nights away.
It seemed sadly fitting
that I deposed of him
in a trash can.

I'm not sure I'll ever forget
the bastard that snuck up on me
overnight
to occupy the pillow you once used,
so his attacks came to groggy eyes
connected to a tired brain
that still had trouble believing
I was sleeping alone.
I should have given him a better death
something more deserving for a traitor,
but in my half-asleep state
I merely grabbed him from his perch
and tossed him to the floor.
(I'm sure the vacuum finished the job later).

There was one found
tangled in a towel,
I don't think he was quite in the position
he was hoping to be;
he lobbed his strongest weapon,
a picture of you right after a shower.
I smiled and shrugged
then threw him into the shower basin
to later be washed down the drain.

And then I thought the war was over
that no ore troops remained
but one more had to show up
to shatter the peace that had settled in the house.
He was hiding in a sweater,
that one of mine
you used to wear,
right within the collar
from which he reached up and tickled my ear;
it wasn't until I grabbed him
his missiles were fired.
They struck their target
with uncanny precision.
Suddenly there you were
wearing this sweater
(and nothing but)
and you were laughing
that beautiful sound
filling my room and my ears;
it was almost too much to bear.
No simple death of fading away
for this assassin
of a joyous heart;
I'd make sure he paid
as much as he could.
I took him to the kitchen sink
where I set that fucker on fire,
burned away his entire existence.

Every blond hair a soldier,
every day a battle.