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 GI100 Book #2...random attempts at poetry. |
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A second attempt at "Give It 100!"  , since the first one ("100" ) turned out pretty well even though I didn't complete it within 100 days.  ![Merit Badge in Mythology
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*^*Salute*^**^*Balloonb*^* YAY!!Congratulations on your fabulous challenge of writing 100 poems is less than your 100 days!! An amazing feat so you deserve a trip to Mount Olympus for a treat! You can walk in the hall of champions. *^*Trophyg*^* Wonderful expressions! Keep on shining. *^*Starstruck*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Mythology-1105.gif) These are just rough sketches and ideas that are barely a little more rounded-out...they're not perfect but they're gonna be good enough to share here at least. Your comments, support, and words of encouragement will be greatly appreciated!  Best Poetry Collection |
7-25-17 "All you want is to run into the woods & beg the wolf to fuck you up." Ocean Vuong, "Anaphora as Coping Mechanism" Maybe you didn't think you'd make it this long or expect to be in this position. And I don't think you know the difference between trying and expectations. I've already got everything I would inherit from you but you're proving to be after something more; something that isn't yours and couldn't be bothered with for so long, even though you're... You're just that. An ellipsis; a space. A regrettable pause and a gasp where life should've ended for you when it did a little for me. An empty line because words can't do justice to the places you weren't man enough or responsibly fit to fill. Your nerve knows no bounds or common sense, and I'm not the only one who's said this before. My heart goes out to those who won't let you die alone, but I can't pity them for their roles in allowing you to forget just what you were required to be, and not only to me. I can tell it's not important to you, just like I can see part of that in me and I have to fight this not becoming you every day. Fighting it. Fighting you, and I don't think I ever really knew you. But that's ok. As much as I tried, I eventually understood each time you failed with exceptionally rare ability to consistently be inconsiderately inconsistent. We noticed; everybody knew it, but you loved something, somebody, everything, that listened to you and indulged you more than we could or were given any chance to. And now... Maybe you didn't think you'd make it this long, but I figured you might. And it's time for me to just as well consider you left to the people you loved the most. I don't wish death on anyone; I merely want you gone. I want forgotten. My name exonerated from your separate distinction. It's not me and it never was. Because you never really liked me anyway; you just did what you were supposed to and some of what fathers should, for show, but you never wanted to raise someone and what you've got left are a bunch of anyones. |
7-25-17 I lack discipline; that's as far as I go with being assertive. I hunger. I struggle. I stutter. I rumble. I cut. I ache. I bleed all over paper, the floor, you, and the weather. I'm supposed to think I'm fortunate. I'm well aware of it. And when I get there, I'm somewhere else like I don't believe myself. Everything sticks out and I don't fit in. Personified embarrassment. Stay humble? I'm lucky if I mumble. My thoughts are mumbo-jumbo, supersized and magnified. Let's play a game called "Quiet Time". That's where I leave you alone and you leave. If I could express emotions properly I'd probably fall between disbelief and grief with a side of relief on my face. And that's my daily dilemma... life is like a misshapen agenda. It's all walls and no corners; windows but no doors and keys but no locks. Time without a clock. I'm a body at peace on the surface, but my value isn't stating what my worth is. |
7-26-17 The forest animals stretch and yawn, and somewhere a clock is arguing the merits of Aristotle with a teleprompter and a set of gardening shears. Only Disney princesses know immortality; the jobless men vaguely struggle while teaching us how to hide our feelings and just stay creepy yet suave enough to get kissed (and we like getting kissed). Otherwise, no real endgame. Everything's a lie dressed up as the unquestionable truth, and when you blink, that's when the unmentionables happen. There is no heaven in the animation. There is only some kind of bullshit happily ever after behind closed credits. |
7-27-17 I can see my iron breath in the mirror where music is reflected as peaceful cobwebs fit for a human to lay on and tolerate noon spraying sun across the clothed land. "I don't want to but I have to" should be the skin I'm forced to wear a t-shirt over because of violent imagery. Instead it's my eyes and ears against a plot; a source of violation I'm trying to remain undercover from. imagine your problems... imagine them washing over you ...now they're washing away I can see my reflection against the sheen of my eyeballs. One eye is working against the other. Same with each arm and each leg; they won't permit any detection or discernible difference in intent. I'm aware of insomnia when I sleep. It rotates breathily through a snoring device, preventing proper dream cycles. I am not one. I am many. I am nothing. imagine your problems... imagine them washing away ...now you're washing away with them |
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Probably not...how I write them and how they sound in my head is dramatically different than how they sound coming out of my mouth 
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Thank you, Mona!
