Saturday, August 19, 2017

Unedited Vomit

How to deal with the endless sense of nothingness?
I lie on my bedroom floor, staring at the light fixture
From it hangs an art project I made years ago
It still hangs
But for how long?

How to deal with the ceaseless ebbing of life?
Writing this, my pen runs out of ink
I toss it, get a new one
Low and behold
It runs out too

And I throw it away, get number three
How many words had I written with it?
How many things did it help me say?
And I throw it out
Annoyed it didn't last another day

How to deal with the feeling that I'm a cliche?
"Oh, another nobody blogger
An unpublished poetry writer
Screaming at an unamused world"
"Oh, it's another teenager
Who thinks that they're so different
And feel so much harder
Thinking so much deeper
You'll be okay, cliche teenager"

How to deal with the judgments of the world?
The endless cries of be better
The cover up of - You're fine the way you are, BUT -
What are they trying to gain?
Make us all the same?

How to deal with the judgments of me?
I don't think I'm good enough, see
Write better, write more -
See these people? They're better, they work harder, they -
Get better, get better!
Get smarter, be faster, be stronger, be braver, be prettier, be -

How to deal with the endless words
Pouring from my heart, my mind, my spirit, my pen - ?
Vomit it onto the page
But it still sticks to my soul
The nagging voice, the hurtful sneers -
Vomit it, vomit it, and say it's not mine

This started as a letter to the rushing days -
But then two pens lost their ink
And the third won't stop vomiting

'Tis unedited vomit
As opposed to my normal revised posts
Where I take out some things - things too close to me
Unedited Vomit
Because today I feel slightly less sane than usual
Probably it's my iron deficiency - when I don't eat enough iron I get lethargic
Or perhaps I get lethargic when I've had an iffy day
But don't want to blame my mental state on . . . my mental state
And so blame IRON -

I feel I'm
Running so hard,
Onward towards
Nothing in particular . . .

Sunday, August 6, 2017


Scribbling out the mischosen words
Caging the chosen birds
Sing to us your sweet melody
One that needs no redos, a true symphony

Perfection in your simple tune
Perfection in the craters on the moon
My scars are not quite so grand
My song is not something you can understand

From the ground to the sky
The voices that question why
Answers drift on the breeze
Offering nothing but a tease

Cards were dealt, cards we play
Blame the past for the mistakes of today
What is required, what we give
The choices we make, how we live

A simple tune so complex
Such little things creating ripple effects
Let no tears fall in the water
Cast in a lucky penny for no slaughter

I lost my voice in the fray
Turned a blind eye to feel okay
Plugged up my ears with a happy tune
Turned my mind away from the craters on the moon

And I scribbled out the truthful words
And caged once free-flying birds
And chose to hear only sweetness in their mourning song
 . . . I blame my hand - it was dealt all wrong