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Looking at Us – my first real poem

I look at Us – Us as in a unit of measurement, unused to anything less than surface level attachments.

We who share a meaningless experience every year and call it bonding, as though bonds were only material.

As though DNA, and being raised, are debts to be re-payed, and anything less is nonsensical to communicate.

I need depth – as in more space with which to relate. I can’t create attachment within surface level space.

Understand this – I know why this lack of space exists. I’ve analyzed and think I’ve diagnosed our neurosis.

We’ve existed for years un-acknowledging each other’s existence. We’re well practiced in pretending we have no inner substance.

Unless of course we’re mad – that’s when we feel comfortable right? And free enough to express our discontent with life.

Sensitive as we are, we could easily arrange a fight. Perhaps we need the chance to strike each other with our spite,

But I’m not even angry, I just think that if we’re joined, we should make some space between us or there isn’t any point.

 

A Brief Summation Of Feelings

I feel tired, worn out, and exhausted.

Ageing faster than my mind is maturing.

Unceasing stimuli of sporadic thought,

Insomnia, sleepless daydreams occurring.

I feel drugged, comatose and stupid.

Staring endlessly, seeing nothing outside.

Contemplations rearranging my perceptions,

Creating illusions and epiphanies I must abide.

I feel thoughtful, diligent and wise.

Evaluating and measuring all intuition.

Life examined, dissected and simplified,

Knowing the rhyme and reason of decision.

I feel angry, agitated, and upset.

To be known, disregarded or misunderstood.

Inconvenient, unrealized, undesired,

Willing, but unable to slow if I could.

I feel like friends and family ignore me,

Avoid me for the sake of comfort and peace.

I feel like they cannot acknowledge,

I know them better , and my intuition won’t sleep.

I feel Isolated,

I feel like talking to you and hanging out because I’m Isolated,

I feel like talking to you and hanging out for three hours then going home so I can be Isolated.

I feel like I want to be with you,

I feel like I miss you and that we should never be together.

I feel like it’s a missed chance,

I feel like I’m glad we missed it, we’re better off,

But I still miss you.

I feel like there’s nothing to say,

Like you’ll see what I mean when I’m ready.

Like I’ve been waiting a long time, growing and changing,

And you’ll soon see what I’ve created.

I feel like heartache,

Like if I wasn’t so cold I’d be bleeding,

If I hadn’t been numbed at such a young age,

Like I would be helpless and bleating.

I feel untouchable,

Like it’s almost too late for me to ever feel vulnerable,…

 

I feel love for you,

And I’m not cruel enough to dismiss it.

If I suffer for you,

I can’t complain for forgiveness.

If you suffer for me, I promise not to forget it.

Jealous

Pretty eyes, pretty thighs, pretty face she never wanted.

Forced to live inside an object of desire.

Introverted, anxious, and the center of attention.

Watched from every side, waiting to be acquired.

Wanted, but never loved, by misfortune or chance.

Every prospect wanting more than she could give.

Taking if they could, every piece of satisfaction.

to pacify the needs with which they’re forced to live.

This way, and that way, in every kind of direction.

Taken, passed on, and consumed by the restless.

Never replenished, left weary and unfulfilled.

Caught up in the cycle, until she met Jealous.

Jealous knew more than any of the others.

Jealous payed attention and expected the same.

Jealous never slept so as never to lose her.

Jealous kept her close since the first time he came.

Jealous worked hard to keep what he wanted.

Jealous made damn sure she was contained.

Jealous didn’t like seeing her with others.

Jealous was stubborn and easily enraged.

Wanted, never loved, pretty object of desire.

Trapped in attention for which she never asked.

Running, recaptured, by Jealous devoured.

Things that are pretty don’t easily last.

 

Everyone wants, everyone needs, most of us take whatever we can get.

Give what you can, love if you can, don’t end up eaten by Jealous regrets.

Twenty-Four, – 01/27

Twenty-four years,

Violence, sadness, life and love.

Enough memory to replay another twenty-four.

Time wasted, time lasted, time spent sublime.

Twenty-four years, and what was it for?

Ten years ago I died my hair black,

I remade myself to become my ambition.

Twelve years ago I made it back home,

from foster care where the youths go as prisons.

Fifteen years since I lived in the west,

In the American desert where religion seduced us.

Eighteen years since we moved to that place,

Since the first time I ever laid eyes on the mountains.

Twenty years now since my mother and I,

Lived together alone inside an apartment.

Twenty-four years to the day in which she,

Brought me to life so this list could be started.

The average lifespan of a man from before,

Before they had learned to last any longer.

As young as I feel, I quite frankly feel old.

There’s times I feel drained, though I’ve never been stronger.

I think I’ll be fine and my life will improve.

As long as I’m asking myself what it’s for.

I’m old and I’m young and I’m anxious to see,

What happens should I live the next twenty-four.

Less than Infinite

Finite life, finite Earth, finite sun and stars

Living, breathing, dying in infinitely expanding space?

Timelines intertwining, connecting and breaking

Infinite alternatives to limited self-identities?

Chasms of space in unfathomable proportions.

Temperatures scorching and freezing to extremity.

Infinitesimal points scream and devour light.

Overheating stars expanding, exploding, dead.

Constantly consuming, stretching wider all the time

Separating everything from all things, indefinitely.

When things drift so far apart we’ll never see them,

Will we remember there was anything at all?

What lurks in those unfathomable chasms of the void?

Shall we search them for objects, monsters, or God?

Does one thought fill immensity,  or just our fragile minds?

Is life forever finite? Are we forever small?

 

What does it matter to you or I anyway?

While the space and time is here and now

Everyone dies and nothing lasts forever.

I love you, so please, don’t let me come down.

The Watcher and the Lions

Quiet

Still and absent of light.

A solitary watcher observing the heart of night.

The whispering song of the wind and leaves, now silent.

No rustling or crying to be heard beneath it’s dark sheets.

The business of night done right.

This was good.

Undisturbed, a word of peace for the Watcher,

Knowing the outcome of things heard or seen.

In those dark hours when the light is sleeping,

those things which are creeping, often far from serene.

The watcher did witness, such surreptitious fiends

in an evening when they emerged from the quiet to be seen.

Carrying their parcels, precious cargo they had stolen,

absent of light, youthful souls from their homes.

So the cries in the night, those of hunger and pain,

In the stillness and quiet, echo loudly unrestrained.

And the Watcher always watching, watched revolted and chilled

from the tearing and screaming and blood that was spilled.

From then until now, where there’s a silence disturbed

it reminds us of nights when those sounds could be heard.

So the stillness and quiet in the night is of peace,

and the Watcher feels calmer while light is asleep.

 

 

All of this to say,… / beyond the capacity to influence.

Discomfort, and memories of events that I wish had never occurred.

Mistakes, or missteps or circumstances that were beyond my capacity to influence.

Allow me to start over,…

A naïve sensitive boy meets a girl far more sensitive but far less naïve.

She knows things about pain, rape, heartbreak, and the general things that the least lucky women come to know.

She’s a masochist by natural selection, in that she was selected by events beyond her capacity to influence.

He was a sadist in the same way, not dangerous, but perfectly willing to scratch her wherever she itched, if so desired.

All of this to say,…

They fell in love, heavily, in the worst kind of way too cliché to describe with a straight face.

The way in which more experienced lovers might scoff or turn away from, sickeningly.

Stupid love, in which both parties imagine that the other was tailor made for their needs.

Where every mental or emotional quirk was not only satisfied, but celebrated as what makes them special and unique.

They were smitten, and when they fucked it was passionate enough for them to cry about.

Melting into each others pores, sweating and savoring every precious moment of it.

The way she would say, “Please, put your cigarette out on my back baby, please!”

And the way he would hesitate, and say, “I can’t find a place you haven’t already burned yourself.”

And the way she’d say, “Do it anyway.”

All of this to say,…

It ended in the worst possible way, dramatically, traumatically, it ended with a rape.

The way in which a stray wolf confuses masochism with someone willing to be used in any kind of way.

While he, the boy, the naïve and sensitive boyfriend was beyond the capacity to influence it in any way.

Where he and she were both beyond the capacity to influence the event that destroyed their naïve and innocent cliché.

The wolf however, did pay. You understand, as a sadist himself the boy knew exactly how that wolf felt.

The sick and selfish ways in which he enjoyed the girl’s humiliation and pain.

Which is why his switchblade cut the wolf across his face, and may have killed him if he hadn’t been restrained.

Anyway, those two lovers are now estranged. She’s married and he’s still walking around somewhere looking dazed.

All of this to say,…

If you see a young man reading a poem about erotic bloodlust and heartbreak, he probably know what the fuck he’s talking about. Thanks.

 

Better to seek suffering –

Pulse pounding erotic bloodlust,

Simulated sadism sustaining vicarious power

Heart sick, hollow, sexual submission

Combustion, stamen, pistol and flower.

Body and blood tasting,

Seductive sad smiles that stimulate

Rational animals seeking suffering

Suffer me slowly, so I may pollinate.

Shall I be the stamen or pistol?

Should I say what I’m trying to say?

Should separations, so separate us?

Shall I pretend that I’m only playing?

Will you give me, give up everything?

Will you make me, take me all away?

Can I hold you, hurt you in my arms?

Can I thrust you, trust you all the same?

Desperate tears for our garden,

Tender kisses for our wounds,

Knives for our fresh lacerations,

Sleep for our comfort, entombed.

Do you see what I’m trying to say?

How much this, is really me?

Are you enjoying my display?

Is this how it’s better to be?