Bad Poetry Reading

I suppose some context is in order, because normally I’m such an upbeat person, but I don’t really have an explanation I’m prepared to fully disclose. In addition to Project Finish Line, which I’ll be writing on more this weekend, I’ve embarked on a bit of an accidental journey that is putting me through my paces, and well…out this came. 

Worry not, my friends, I may not actually be as bullet proof as I claim, but I try to be tough to hit. 

And if you’re reading this, suggestions on a title?

Broken heart, yet still I stand

A shattered shell with grains of sand

Beneath the skin that rip and tear

At throbbing scars already there.

Empty numbness leaves me needing.

Someone stop the jagged edges inside bleeding.

But I walk alone with you forever,

Festering wounds holding me together.

Pull away then turn around 

For though I fight I long to drown

In the merciless sea of time ahead 

That fills my every breath with dread

Of living life an immortal cursed 

To trudge invisible upon the earth 

Across the paths of none who see

What could have been whole is broken in me.

My soul is hope transformed to doubt

Now trapped and screaming with no way out.

At the top of my lungs I silently cry 

Lamenting the second before goodbye 

Where possibilities thrived,
And we were alive,
With reasons to try,
And no end in sight.

But now it’s today,

When you walked away,

Leaving behind you this fractured wraith 

To survive in the absence of aspirations or faith.

So I put on the smile already failing me

To pretend to the world I’m still in one piece

And somehow still similar to

The person I was when looking at you,

But It’s all a lie, for with each ragged breath 

That person is gone, the thing remaining is death.

It’s desperate to fall, but I steady my hand…

Broken hearted, yet still 

Mercilessly 

I stand.

Advertisements

Should You Suffer the Consequence if You Can’t Remember the Action?

I’m an Aries. And while I don’t believe in Astrology as a general rule of life, I do believe that I fit this particular stereo type. That means when I get hurt, rejected, sad, etc, I have one go-to emotion: pissed off. And I’ll be honest, when I’m pissed off I really like to be vocal about it – for better or worse. However, in my advancing and supposedly more mature years, I’ve learned that it doesn’t always pay to be vocal and have conditioned myself to act accordingly. In some situations.
For example, my boss is probably the last guy with whom I’d like to express just exactly what I’m thinking at any given time. Nor are my employees because, though I could much more easily get away with it in that audience, leaders are only leaders when they are followed, and people don’t follow those who lose their shit on a regular basis. I also try to avoid taking things out on anyone who doesn’t deserve it – strangers, significant others, pets, parents, coworkers, etc. I can’t say I’m always successful, but I try.

At the end of the day, the bottom line is if I don’t express then I repress. And then I fester and stew and marinate in whatever the issue is until it – inevitably – boils over one way or the other. Some things take longer than others. The longer it takes, the worse it gets.

So here’s the question: how drunk does a person have to be before an “expressive” text message can be sent and then thoroughly stored in unconsciousness?

Perhaps one could compose and save intelligent, scathing messages to all those with whom they’re irritated, and then when they’re stumbling and blurry-eyed they could – with their last conscious effort, like saying, “Go to hell” with a dying breath, or a self-destruct sequence on a Vodka-fueled space shuttle  – hit send just as they fall into an alcohol-induced oblivion and live without regret until at least noon the following day.

Mature? No. Effective? Possibly. Entertaining? Good or bad, most definitely.