There Was A Young Man From Peru

A Broken Vase

This vase is broken.

It is chipped, cracked, and damaged.

It is broken like a million other vases.

Yes, it is broken.

Hurt like a million others, indeed.

Each one uniquely hurt, each one uniquely changed.

This broken vase is worthless.

It is broken. It serves no purpose.

It would be better to throw it away.

No, it can heal.

And when it is healed, it will be unique.

It will be a simple vase no longer.

The broken vase will stay broken.

It will never be fixed to mint condition.

It must be thrown away.

Yes, the damage will stay.

But it will be fixed to be different.

It will be unique and special and beautiful.

This is a broken vase. We must throw it away.

I am beginning to believe that the vase is not the problem here.

Notice

I think I'm going to stop posting poetry. I've had enough. The depression hits exactly the same as always and I can't come up with anything new. The words are splayed out in front of you all - they will allow you to peer into my very soul - and there's nothing more for my poems to tell you, no arrangement of words that brings anything new to the table. Anything I make now will be rehashings of everything in the previously, and I don't think I can come up with anything new or good.

Good day to all.

May whatever God is up there see the insincerity of my penance.

Edit: I may continue posting cryptic shit because I'm eccentric like that fr.

I reach for the bright future

and I fall just one inch short

It is good enough. I have done enough.

But it is all unraveling back again.

I changed my direction.

I chose the better path.

I worked towards truly living.

So why is it falling back apart?

I convinced myself I could be happy.

I convinced myself I was allowed to be happy.

I convinced myself it would be better to be happy.

So why do I feel like I deserve to suffer?

Do I have anything to say for myself?

Do I have some sort of penance to offer?

Do I regret my choice, or only that I failed?

Should I regret my existence, too?

was the pie in the sky just another fucking lie?

I Don't Deserve A Thing

I don't deserve to be happy, I'm just another useless fool,

Doing nothing and nothing and nothing till the end of time,

and if saving the someone took 10 hours of my life and I wouldn't be noticed,

then I'd probably just let them die whatever death out of laziness.

I don't deserve to be sad, I've been relatively lucky,

I am fed, with a roof over my head, constant electricity, more clothes than I know what to do with, and the sky is blue,

and it doesn't matter that I was beaten and yelled at and traumatized,

because everyone else had it much worse and got over it, so why can't I?

I don't deserve to be wanted, I'm not supposed to be wanted,

Anybody who wants me is greatly appreciated and surely a fool,

for anybody who could love this person with this face is a miracle,

a miracle of idiocy and foolishness and complete lack of judgement.

I don't deserve to be hated, why would you hate me,

it brings you nothing and I'm not even worthy of hate,

instead please ignore me, ignore everything I say,

for the silent treatment is worse than the loudest slur.

I don't deserve to talk, I don't deserve to be known,

I don't deserve to be heard louder than the people who starve,

or the people who bleed, or the people who lose, or the people who die,

I don't deserve to deserve at all, anything in this lucky, cruel world.

What It Means To Vote

Lies, lies, lies, all the way down.

Do you ever really stop and think about who you're even talking about?

Do you ever think who gains off cheating you? Who wants you to stay stupid?

Do you ever think about what it means to vote?

You are deciding the fate of a society. You choose feast or famine.

So why, really, do you choose the man who has lied to you time and time again?

Why do you want the man who has shot you and left you for dead?

What the actual fuck is going on inside your head?

Do words even matter to you anymore? Do kindness and empathy mean nothing?

Are you just another sock-puppet of that moneybag in a suit?

Do you not see the bigger picture? The bots, the trolls, the media diversions?

Do you ever even think about what your vote really means?

A rapist, a felon, impeached twice, started an insurgency.

Do you even hear yourself? Do you even look at the man you're touting?

Black guy, have you seen the racism he perpetuates? Woman, have you seen the sexism he himself partakes in? Immigrants, have you seen what he wants to do to you?

Do any of you - any of you - really think about what it means to vote for this man?

I'm Sorry. I'll Leave. I'll Go.

It appears that

I have done

something bad again.

It appears that

I have drawn

your ire again.

I'm sorry.

I'll leave.

I'll go.

Am I just

another filthy

attention-seeker?

Is this

another farce

I've made?

I'm sorry.

I'll leave.

I'll go.

Am I

Not even worth

The air I breathe?

Am I really

Such scum

And filth?

I'm sorry.

I'll leave.

I'll go.

Am I truly

Just another blight

On this world?

Should I

End it here

To not be a burden?

I'm sorry.

I'll leave.

I'll go.

Just say the words

and I'll make

my exit.

Just tell me to get out

and I'll heed

your command.

I'm sorry.

I'll leave.

I'll go.

HANG IN THERE BABY!! instagram | bluesky | patreon

‼️prints here

Loneliness

A tree falls

Nobody around to hear

It makes a sound.

But it doesn’t matter.

I tell a joke

Not particularly good

People around

Nobody listening.

I laugh with myself.

I laugh at myself.

What a funny joke!

Both are funny jokes!

Is this how

God feels, in his kingdom

Of everything

High up above, alone

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 think im just traumadumping with poetry at this point