Poetic Referendum(s) On Life

Atlas Had Nothing Like Me?

Unnecessary Burden

I am…like
fucking Atlas over here
shouldering a spinning, magnetic mass —
counterintuitive black hole rejector —
told stand aside, shut it, yet
my grimace draws judicious stares,
blinking sycophants,
angular posturing of the
‘I’m trying to get something done over here’,
adding audible groans, ready to instruct
how
to accept the obligated debt of a boulder
grinding my scalp daily,

while passersby shove, shoulder,
spat upon by those quick and dead, seem to have lived more — taxed more
(firmest grip of shared “reality”) —
than a carny fool who dares
be their spectacle-shadow, unable
to accept patronizing, proffered pity equal to contempt
on her scale —

sacrificial ineptitude, waste of a true immaculate embryo
to his wayward-sputtered seeds —
grow to bear this weight for no one I’ve ever met,
but they sidle, shuffle past without a look,
suckle-savor that plastic, white coffee dispenser,
it’s lingering steam blown out,
wisp of last harvested vintage processed,
from some Colombian hillside hauled across a treacherous divide,
to consume each brown beans’ last exhaust —

that earth consuming cup sinks our sea heavily,
jars my arthritic, osteo-vertebrae decay.

I have no choice.
What could those meek do, but
hope scripture true, pray to not join an aisle
from stiff-dead, wood pews audible ache, trail
to that bully’s pulpit in silent remorse.

Accumulated history of negative input
that would launch a thousand underworld vampires,
living off the degrading cells of my anatomy,
reconditioning,
sparked as your green mountain despiser of seasonal tidings,
find truer love in self-worth and yet prompted
like a socialist to serve some common…

not a storybook any child should recitate, not fake enough?

Swallowing a bilge of mixed apathy, concealed aggression,
convert into this new energy,
when I toss a dense rock. My hurl
does not aim, cannot consider your fate, but
the discard of sacrifice to the elitists who suck
mother’s teat, slobbering, ghoulish as a younger sibling
ready to gesticulate at anything as transgression,
hoard all snack … left with none.

5.6.24

and that’s where I ended

I consort with what I shouldn’t … and here I am.

Ignore the following (unworthy):

                   2-Time WDC Quill Winner: Best Poetry Collection, 2020 and 2021. NOMINATED for 2022!

BOOK

Poetic Referendum(s) On Life  (18+) 10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind #1149750 by Brian ~ Kognitive DissonanCe

My feelings about awards documented long ago with early life struggles that manage to still manifest now.

Ego doesn’t preen now, but staunchly defends.

I check my reflection more than once daily, with the clearest reflection allowed amidst obstacles.