Learning To Express Myself
On a good day, it seems.
Dial’s cranked to the teens
Kindly mind me beside thee,
It’s hot in these jeans.
Find I’m rude to extremes,
Then I start to get mean.
I’m rotting while plotting
What’s causing disease.
I simmer like dinner is
thinner for bingers
who lingered in winter;
So thin like a stinger
That’s slimmer when nearer.
Sometimes when I write these
Limerick-y rhymes, their
Enzymes are my grief squeezed
Synergistically
Brutally
Most times I only write when
The grossest kinds of lonely
Bite my focused mind and
Stone me, spite not noticing
Empathetically
Selfishly
I feel a little better
Beckoned fleeting reflections of you.
Behold to unfold such connection, it’s
True that I missed most the meat
on my bones due to you. Forgetting
to eat as I wander the wood.
But the smile on your face brings a magical mood,
And familiars are sweet. Look! They greet me with food!
Spend years here in place of my usual zoo.
But…I fail to negate the rate of elation
that races to spaces of imagination
Makes me want to keep this and hold it in station
So sickened with hubris I ended up wasting.
If it goes back to the ether, was it ever created?
I woke up, too tired to fight.
Opened my eyes, then closed them tight.
My broken mind was wired all night.
Choking the sight of me out of my life.
Think it’s best to hide away.
Shrink and nest inside today.
Blink twice to miss my life this way.
My stink depresses, please don’t stay.
I wouldn’t even remember me.
I couldn’t reason tranquility,
And shouldn’t receive transparency;
A fool, so leave the lights off please.
As only holes are welcome here.
The lonely souls you cannot fill.
Alone, yet something hates me still.
To sleep is justice unfulfilled.
There’s subliminal belittling
In everything that you say to me.
We are eventually bickering
Simply breathing in proximity
To your criminal therapy.
As you’re finishing imagining
This apparition you say is me,
I am marshalling my reasoning
By fashioning a partitioning
Between what was – you and me.
“Could he ever tell
Should the levers quell
Wooden bells made of necks
Hooded threats say he’s next??”
Who’s going to say
Even fools know the play
Is to chose tools well suited
For bruising well-rooted
Choices he made.
akennific 