Hello, Who Are You? I Wish To Know Your Story. I See Poetry Blogs Like These, I See Them In Their Void;

Keep Looking

The light at the end of the tunnel

Is hidden by a door in-between.

The senses that fall into the funnel

must be processed and filtered before seen.

The fox sees the grapes and cries "sour!"

The faint light peeks through, and the man denies.

But when time passes, hour by hour,

the fox must jump up, and the man must realize.

A sliver of light peeks through the door's crack

for it has been pulled slightly ajar

by the ones who walked off the well-worn track

and realized, inside, who they really are.

The man fears the door, for it is new to him

If he is wrong about the light, there is only evil in sight

This is a dangerous matter - it cannot be decided on a whim.

But he must keep looking, and he must see the light.

He must crack the door further open,

pushing the holy sepulchre's sealing stone aside

for the trailblazers have advised; the Oracles have spoken:

There is only joy waiting for her on the other side.

I Ask

I repeat my lamentations forevermore

as I repeat the same actions

that create this melancholy suffering.

I ask, "Where has all the joy in the world gone?"

while I push it away and reject every inch

for I am afraid of allowing spring

into my frozen, quiet winter.

I ask, "Where have all the good men gone?"

as I fail to see that I myself

am not a good man,

and thus see little good in others.

I ask, "What can I do to make the right choices?"

as I look at the choices in front of me

the correct one obvious to my discerning eye

and choose the shortsighted option again.

I ask, "How can I be better?"

as I ignore the hard, effortful path to victory

the path taken by everyone else who won

and simply hope greatness will fall onto my silver platter

I ask, "Where is someone who will love me?"

as I fail to see the good in myself

and forget that love, like charity,

starts from within.

Me talking to the therapist voice in my head

"okay, so what do you say when someone says they're not worth anything"

"Who the hell says they're worthless I'll fight them" "Alright, now what should you think when you're the one that feels like you're worthless" "Well I'd be right, I am worthless" "no-"

Impostor

I, a false pretender to the throne

command thee thus: stay away

from me, from my filth, from the

degeneracy of my very being.

There is nothing good here.

No beauty to redeem. No

great ambition or fame

to be found in this husk.

Do not argue. You may not

tell me about how great I already am.

I fear you may convince me. It feeds

the narcissism, the complacency.

I will not be great. I will not be good.

Do not place your hopes upon me.

I merely take and take and take what's not mine

so that I can pretend I had a part in creation.

Go. Cast my chains off thee.

Be free. Be happy. Be real.

I will hold myself back and watch

with a jealous, happy smile.

Change and the Future

if I'm going to do anything I'm going to make sure I can't be forced to go back.

It's great to go from poor to rich, but it's hell to go from rich to poor.

To taste the fruits of victory and then be dragged by the foot right back down to hell?

No thank you! I would rather not eat at all than eat exactly once.

Anyways I am already at rock bottom and have been for years. What more is new?

Oh, do not get me wrong, haha! I'm not saying I have no hope for the future or whatnot.

I'm just being very careful. "Risk-avoidant?" Yes, that sounds like a good term.

I will reach for the grapes only when I have stacked up enough chairs and boxes to reach for it easily.

When I jump, I'm going to grab the whole goddamn vine, not just one or two measly grapes.

I'm a greedy little motherfucker, isn't that right? I ask for little, I want for little, but what I do want for, I wait for the right time and grab hold of it forever.

Anyways the future is only real if you grasp it and hold on tight, and I'm not going to jump and risk a broken leg for nothing.

Finally did it this time.

3rd time’s the charm.

today i am going to run on the treadmill until either my lungs or my legs give out

the pain will remind me to exist

Just One More Year

Just one more year until the Event That Decides My Life

and then I'll finally be free

The event comes and goes.

I am now free.

He takes it away again.

Just one more year,

Just one more year.

Just one more year,

Just one more year.

Just one more year until you can get what you want

and then you'll finally be free

The year comes and goes

You are free. Nothing changed.

Because he took it away again.

today i am going to run on the treadmill until either my lungs or my legs give out

the pain will remind me to exist

"In case anyone missed it, the tuberculosis outbreak in Kansas has now spread to Ohio.

[The Republican Administration] has ordered the CDC to not report on this"

Forever That Child At Age Five

Do you ever wonder if people can really change beyond their formative years?

"Sure they can. Maybe not the whole, but a solid chunk? Yeah."

Well, I suppose that's true to some extent.

A man can live the first 20 years of his life in a constant state of movement.

Studying, working, doing chores, being what he needs to be in order to survive a harsh environment.

Then he can live the next 20 years in a carefree state of relaxation,

and live the last 50 as the hardworking man once more to provide for his family.

Or at least, that's the story of my father.

But I fear I am still going to be that same child I was, back when I was five, ten, fifteen.

I fear I am forever going to be under the shadow of that man,

that man who had two children without even realizing how fucked up his own childhood was.

I fear I will never become anything more, at my core, than that five year old child.

Sure, I suppose I'll change, superficially; maybe I'll know a bit more, fit into society a bit more, and so on.

But at heart I will still be that same, sad, scared little child,

a child who would do anything for a bit of affirmation and approval.

I fear that when I am thirty, or fifty, or eighty, or a hundred-twenty, or however the fuck long I live,

that I will still be no different from the child I was when I was five.

I fear that I am always going to be the same little boy who begs for just the slightest bit of love.

I fear that I am forever that child at age five.