Won’t someone take this weight off my shoulders,
I feel it in my hips
love is binding and also coniving
blinding you when hindsight is always 20/20
there’s that Knowing
that sometimes inhibits growing
(&how could a man with So Much Support
fail so many times?
He should be called determination, and be made gate keeper)
You Can’t Fail
when failure is not trying
Working for tips is not all that fine,
sweating, and running on people’s pre-perceived gratuity
(God Bless pre-tips)
This is How You Pay Me,
and feed the machine and my family(‘cause you have me, and all the “me’s” that share my queasy kness), and my family.
I’m working to be a bolt in that machine,
a bolt that keeps things running
(I’m always running,
especially in dreams and then there’s those dreams
where you’re always saving me.)
I love you, my bread and butter
the butter takes churning and the bread takes baking, careful rising, and watching
So rise carefully and watch wisely
but not too slowly.
There’s something wrong with all of us, I have issues with sugar, for example
or giving to much to my sugar, being too sweet on my sugar
(too much of a good thing, sometimes)
We all have our labels and health issues,
but there’s a relief when wondering was a lifetime
and bleeding was a lifetime
shuttering on my lifelines, and pouring out of my eyes.
Some of us have issues with attention (being starved for it leads to an aggressive hunger for it, I suppose—though sadness and disgust mingle in my heart at the sight of it.)
Oh, ailments and how we make excuses of them
and how we are sometimes stronger for them.
My brother was a warrior in a past life, he must have been.
(he’s a warrior in this one, undoubtedly)
one of my few.
all this negativity over energy, creating negatives inwardly
You Learn to Survive from that.
You become whole from that.
It’s not how many times we came over, or from where, or what method of transportation.
Those few are blessed and far between,
the ones who carry on
Falling to the old things takes the wings you need to rebuild, sometimes.
Crossing seas we need not cross, on mended, broken, taped, sewn and boarded up wings:
that the’s world for you, machines creating machines making man
intolerable.
So here’s to the few.
Naturally the holidays tend to bring a higher level of alcohol consumption to the table. At my near twenty-two years of age, I find myself wondering why my peers, even including some who are five or more years older, who are behaving worse than monkeys on mating day.
In a nation obsessed with youth it seems to become more and more socially acceptable for us to act like hounds in heat. Youth used to be a time for exploring our potential place in the universe, not exploring the mouth of the person next to you, mid-conversation with the person across from you. I’m not saying PDA is utterly unacceptable, I just don’t want to see you having sex in my living room. Especially when there are sleeping children but a bedroom door and a hallway away.
Commercials on the radio in Virginia spout all month long about December being “drunk and drugged driving month.” The commercial has a good point, I’ve decided to make my friends recite that five times before allowing them to drive.
A good friend and I have also decided to remind people of their young age when they are whipping out their private parts or trying to make out with someone of the same sex for attention. (I’m all for gay rights. But you’re making it harder for them to be taken seriously when you refer to yourself as a “drunk bi.”)
Oh, reverse psychology.
I lost something I considered a daily expense
(death in a crush-proof box)
The Universe is speaking to me, I know it
I just don’t know what she’s saying.
I yell at her, in the car, screaming curses and obscenities
demanding what she wants from me.
I yell at others, alone, (only company of the radio)
demanding to know why they left me.
Human nature is disturbing and disrupting
(a friend told me mating for life wasn’t natural
I asked him if penguins were natural.
He said we were just apes—they had the man to woman ratio figured out.
One provider, one decider, everyone picking pests from the community)
I put my hands together, like my momma taught me.
A moral compass that defines me, though I disagree
with its surroundings of sunday Christians
Sunday hats whispering white happy funerals
We’re saving a baby’s soul today.
And I say, what God, would send a baby to hell?
My dollars are wet & I’ve lost my cigarettes
maybe I should just live longer, stop laying in this bed gutter.
The Universe is yelling at me
raining on my brain
with its double-edged sword of intellect
knowledge is both enslaving and invigorating
surprises come in small sections
—-finding the section is my objective.
I found my cigarettes. A new dance with death
