My Recurring Themes

Being loved for me

Without expectation or fantasy

Seems difficult to believe

With my experience of me.

Not so much a wreck,

I survive and reflect

On which parts feel neglect

Like an Art without affect.

My solace is stained,

In my solitude contained

With a sadness ingrained

And expression estranged.

I mumble and shake,

Needs pulsing and awake,

Demanding that I break

Whatever is at stake.

I’ve worn out these flaws,

Dissected their causes,

Accepted my losses,

But still wrapped in their familiar claws.

Aspirations, Confessions, Anxieties

Quietly, I can express my needs and wants.

A laugh, a good thought, and a gentle fuck.

Judge honestly, but don’t hate me.

I never meant to be so much a pity.

Far enough forward triggers regress.

Love is the idiotic fantasy I’ve missed.

Guilt disturbs not my persona’s visage,

Knowing vanity is only shameful without substance.

Every day is a tedious dream to live unrestrained,

In constant delay and imposed constraints.

Reaching out becomes languidly cheap.

Everyone seems shallow when you’ve hidden yourself deep.

Lived too long and not enough,

Though experienced more than the time was worth.

Years pass and thoughts persist unfazed,

But I’m old enough to be tired of my own malaise.

I would tear my heart open in a second,

Were it not for fear of punishment.

Insults are nothing, but criticism still hurts.

It’s horrific guessing what your identity is worth.

Should I redress my name?

Should I assess my every action?

Would you think I was stealing

If I seemed more like you?

Can angry boys grow up to be women,

And would it make her less man?

 

Enough, enough.

Speak in slow, delicate tones.

Gardens, streams,

Mountains, flowers,

Poetry, books, and music,

Love, sex, and fragrance,

A dream away,

A lifetime.

My Little Ghosts

Ghosts, vivid as any indelible memory,

Opaque characters complex as any pain.

Whispering phantoms of fancy and debate,

Debased to be displayed within me.

Fragments of former friends and foes

Haunting the pensive moments of my mind.

Frequently visiting my somber silences

To stimulate my passive passions.

Enticing my impulses to aggravation,

My bitter hates and petty joys,

And long past my solemn recompense

They goad me into fits of familiar disillusion.

The remembered and imagined coalesce

Into perfect torments for my indolence,

So whatever quiet moments I acquire

Inevitably fill with vexatious rants.

 

Leave me be, but never go too far,

As long as I need to fill these voids.

As much as I move on, you’re still my ghosts

And I need your stimulation to survive.

Maybe once I’ve passed along

From one sad form into the next,

I’ll fill the quiet with better voices

And forms that leave me better vexed.

Necromancy

Deep breaths,

Resurrecting past emotions.

A litany of shit and shame

Deliberately targeted on the present moment.

Tangent upon tangent,

Trauma upon trauma,

Surfacing up to swallow

The security of my bondage.

Like the restless dead

Shrieking as their unearthed,

Naked in the light of day,

Tortured by the slightest sensation.

My life hurts.

All the painful memories replay.

This is My Hell.

This is everything I’ve tried to escape.

Keep breathing.

Wait for everything to bleed away.

Hold onto nothing,

Give it up,

Let it go.

Living With Hell

Reality was harsh

Recognition was worse

Revelation was unbearable.

 

I could find truth

I could accept myself with it

But I couldn’t relate it to anyone.

 

I could argue

And I could explain

But never enough to satisfy.

 

I could relax

And I could let it go

But it couldn’t ever leave me.

 

I want to be real

To be honest and understood

But I’ve learned not to expect it.

 

I learned to stay quiet

To hide behind an empty face

But I can’t always help it.

 

I need to let it out

But I know there’ll be pain.

So much held back for so long,

And I know it’s gonna be Hell.

 

It Feels Time To Die

When time passes and slips by so fast,

When I contemplate all that I’ve missed or forsaken,

It pains me to acknowledge my own mistaken steps,

To realize my fault in those moments taken.

To have aged to such a point missing out,

To have lost so many loves I should’ve cherished,

To be floating, numbing myself to indifference,

To have drifted past chances and watched them perish.

Will wisdom prove the worth of my decisions?

Have I lost too much to ever fully recover?

Do empathy and arrogance measure so equally?

Will hiding myself lead anyone to discover?

Choices, to decide what to do, what to be, who I am.

To be, my identity, with vulnerability and shame.

To understand, hidden weaknesses will never leave you.

Emotions leave you empty and cold when restrained.

Too many lost chances, too many disappointments.

Too long living sheltered, pretending to be free.

It feels time to die and murder insecurity.

To live again, opening as wide as I can be.

 

Down The Longest Stairway

Past the cellar doors and down the longest stairway,

Down the twisted steps of splintery rotted wood.

The cold and damp walls dripping wet with moisture,

And the dank earthy aroma fills my nose.

Minutes pass before I even reach the bottom.

The floor is carpeted, musty, and filthy with dirt.

It’s hard to breathe comfortably down here,

But there’s work to be done, however bad it hurts.

I tear the carpet open with my bare hands,

I rip and pull it out until it’s completely gone.

The floor is nothing now but moistened black dirt,

And an open pit that was covered so long.

Planks of aged wood cover this open sore.

I start pulling them away one by one.

Dirt and dust cover me, and fall into the abyss.

Slowly light begins to shine through the cracks.

Peering down into the pit I finally see,

I see the creature that was trapped and hid away.

I see it looking out, our eyes lock together.

What I saw down there,.. was me,… but not in just any way.

I shuddered,… I gaped,… My heart’s bleeding again.

So well hidden. So,… cruel and barbaric,… Is that really what I am?