Drinking by the pool
Heat pouring through body
Life is pretty good
Month: April 2017
Sartre sometimes eats a sandwich
These things that we say are fallible
We exist as hyperbole
This presentation of the elevation
As if we are turned to eleven at all times
As if we are not sitting eating a muffin
As if the cool noise of a fan does not swing in the background
As if we were these over the top always on always always people
But sometimes I want to talk about Sartre and sometimes I want to make a nonsense noise, kiss you on the nose, and read.
Its not all life and death
Not all this and only this
We are not replacements for what we have
We are additions adding up to more
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Gaze
Just give me these moments
To walk through the gray
I’m sitting here waiting
You’ll know that I’ll stay
But fear not tenacity or weighty attention
My touch is feather light
Or such is my intention
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Jealous
No right to be jealous but I am
You aren’t mine
Not mine in the way I want you to be mine
Not mine, blood and bone
Not mine, whip and roan
Not mine but I want to know what you are doing all the time
Not mine but I’m jealous of anyone spending time with you
But the odd thing is that if you were mine
I’d not be jealous
I’d know you were coming home to me
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Working through
Sometimes depression gets the better of me. Sometimes I’m too much in my head. Sometimes my poetry reveals a thought or a idea that I don’t consciously consider. To me, that is the point. Not just to create something that resonates but something that also forces my mind and thoughts into the light. So that I can begin to work on it.
That thought that I’m not worth loving has been kicking around my brain for 2 years. And only yesterday could I force it far enough to the surface that I can begin to deal with it. Instead of being a secret I hold like it is something precious, now it is revealed for the cancer it is. Now that I cannot deny that I have this thought, now I can’t hide from it. Now it can be fought.
I know this is hard to read. I know that there are people here who care. I thank you for letting me work through my baggage in this public forum. Without this cold light, I think my mind could convince itself it could reclaim the thought. But now, it’s out in the world. And I refuse to be that man. The one who blames instead of solves. I’m sorry if reading it hurt anyone. I hope it didn’t.
So thank you. For being here.
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Cycle the muse
Elevate
But in the eventual moment
They all walk away
Perhaps I’m the one that’s broken
Unable, despite everything,
To make them stay
Or is make the wrong word
AM I not able to demonstrate
Far enough
More than enough
That I am worth staying for
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Love is another word for empty
Love is the breaking of your soul into tiny pieces
Pieces that fly away looking for a better home than your own desolate heart
Pieces you secretly hope will find their way back to you
Bringing with them the person they found a home in
That that person will be wanting to stay with these pieces and not looking to shove them in the junk drawer
But love is knowing those pieces are lost forever
And if they are smart and they are because they are you
They will stay gone
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Unexpected wrecking ball
I’m looking at my phone. It’s with me all the time with the Internet and Facebook and games and texts. And I’m thinking, there is nothing this phone can do that can distract me from this pain. There is nothing it can do to give a moment of peace. Nothing that gives hope. Nothing that gives purpose.
Just this endless pablum of white noise that does nothing to stop the screaming voice that sobs out, “You are unwanted. Unloved. What are you still doing here.”
And I think of the people I could reach out to and just who would that be? It’s not ok. It’s not going to be OK. I’ve had my fill of I know what you’re going through or I wish you didn’t know what that feels like. I am going through it. I do know what it feels like. The only thing that stops it is when I don’t feel alone. This is just what is. I try my damndest. But I’m right back where I started. If anything, more bruised and jaded.
Nothing is good, nor will it ever be again. That’s what today feels like.
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Eyes wide open
Waking up
Dreams are not what they seem
And I wander roads I haven’t traveled in years
And every heart I find is closed
Or mourning for its own losses
Reeling from its own hurts
In only mending am I broken
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Vengeance sleeps the beast
A faltering blade
Shattered
Slipping through my fingers
Blood
… Everywhere
This feeling
This Elation
This Joy
… This… Nightmare
Pelgris 