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To your fears... |
| Poetry............. |
8-5-22 Welcome to the shitshow; the world is a zoo. I greet you with the mic check one-two one-two just to see who's listening and who's being listened to. I never bore a child; I respect you if you did or didn't. It's not my place. I stared death in the eye and kicked it in the phases of the face, of the tail, of its tumultuous pace. I don't smile much but I don't need to. Everything you do has been done before; you're the read-through. Panic is my middle name; attack is my last. I am apparently not a parent and I'm happy that you asked. I don't suffer discomfort gladly and I'd never let it pass on to another one, a daughter or a shining sun. I'd be something of a masochist; a schism. Table for one. I can only function as a mouth. I'm not a spout or a demon ready to sprout. You can fight the battle and send your kids to war. I will not be replicated to duplicate the chore of whatever we're mad about today and forever more. |
7-8-22 Bruises... we all got 'em. Ain't no other way we coulda stopped 'em. Tell me yours, I'll show you mine. Why? We got lives to live and there's a roadmap inside. This is who we are and what we live for. We don't cry no more; the milk's gone sour. Show your teeth and strut your beefs and let everyone know your secrets. Show me yours and I'll tell you mine. They'll stay with us, within us, between us, until the end of time. |
6-30-22 When was the last time you were on the ledge? That edge? Your body resisted every attempt to do it, as if it wasn't supposed to be complicit. And not into it. I've seen to many of my heroes die without saying why and I'm over here like why not me? What's wrong inside me? To live and have to explain why my brain is overwhelmed by heartaches and pain I can't begin to ascertain. Hell isn't mythical; it's physical. You wanted it but can't have it and now you've become it. I'm an outsider within myself and I make no apologies for myself. I don't talk; I bleed tears for what I shouldn't be. |
4-25-22 I come around like the wind the cat dragged in. A suffered son, a buffered outcome, and still trying to tell time by the sun. While you were burning your last four-leaf clover I was treading water turning power into solar energy to recreate what a day is. It's fruitless, if you're interested. The truth is in the proof and the lie is we have no idea what "getting by" means but we do it just to do it anyway and if we make a difference along the way so be it. So see it. I'm a fortress with a heart of glass by design, in case anyone asks and if I talk without vowels you'll understand. Bury me alive. I don't deserve a proper séance of nouns and verbs misplaced like my intentions, and move along... we've got other destinations to ascend to. |
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