Most Hated of Them All.

I hate her.
I hate the way her face displays,
all the things she hides from me;
I hate every breath that she takes.
I curse her smiles;
I make it rain all over her parades,
I saturate her blankets,
and every clothesline that she hangs.
I feel sick;
every time her victory banner is waved,
those with hearts as dark as hers,
do not deserve such good days.
I cast catching nets;
to halt the successes she’s made,
all the good she’s accomplished;
from within a questionable Human state.
I hunt her;
track marks in the mud from her chains,
her pace has picked up now,
but her attempts to escape are in vain.
I watch her;
watch each line appear in her face,
along the tip-toes of the crow’s feet,
so I step away from the mirror again.

Apex.

The words written,
have me feeling
sickly and un-smitten,
through the text,
be me sensing one
yellow-starred Apex,
“art”, or something,
special status – VIP
gums – bumping,
keep it sloppy,
your literary versions
parties with Pop Queens,
it almost hurt me,
be not for a sudden
void of curiosity,
two masters, one crown,
too many jars
full of HONEY to count,
volume’s up, open trunk
toes tapping
to your wordy junk,
speakers thumping,
I take the trash out at night
blood stops pumping,
and…..so here I go,
paddling my way
to be broken by the sea,
be it one born of saline,
or oceans of lies
it is my serpentine,
and I, its wiry chord,
whatever be it was
to my own accord,
do not folly to believe,
that my yellow star
takes you or your
so-called “poetry”,
in the least bit seriously.

Me.

This villainous fiend that is me,

the shadow in firelight,

the beast waiting to spite,

such villainous things I perceive;

this slowly emptying sea,

the waves that break,

the breaths they take,

what a fucking tragedy;

this temper tantrumming,

the punches at air,

the utter despair,

such a childish identity;

this condition that’s underlying,

the highs and lows,

the last to know,

such a burden is mine to carry;

this unforgiven monstrosity,

the one under my skin,

the one who I am,

such a hideous monster is me.

 

 

Notes to Self #445

Dear Self:
1) How many times have you actually carried the bag out your car before leaving, despite its precarious position on the inside of the door-knob to the front door? Time for a new reminder spot, dumbass…
2) While sleepwalking, try to somehow remember that you will be held accountable for the things you’re up to during the early morning hours in the man-cave, by the men who cave there…
3) Over dinner with the parents of a childhood friend (who is now, unfortunately, deceased), try to avoid talking about “death throes” – even in the intended context of the fish on your plate. Talk about awkward…
4) Not everyone feels the way that you feel about certain historical figures, including, but not limited to: Joan of Arc, Genghis Khan, Socrates, Moses and Josephus; sometimes it’s just best to let ignorance override a situation in order to avoid a five-hour marathon of “truth versus textbook”…
5) YOU ARE NO EXCEPTION…not to ANY rule, ANY time, or under ANY circumstances…
6) The VERY gradual tapering off of the use of the air horn you keep stashed under the passenger’s seat of your car DOES NOT truly count as “changing your ways” in regard to ‘Road Rage’…
7) Using only one hand to flip off the dude next you (who cut you off twice) instead of both doesn’t count, either…
8) Again, when you don’t pay your bills – you lose your shit…
9) “All-Day Wear Lipstick” should be illegal for what it ultimately does to your appearance, after only a partial day – you’d be better off smearing wild berry stain inside your mouth and all across your own front teeth…go back to Blistex…
10) Lastly, just because you’ve had luck in the past with training (notably trainable) finches, does not mean that you can start ‘Homing Pigeons’ in your spare time…

Frying Pan.

Choosing never affects a good choice,

only amplifies the neediness in your shaky voice,

aren’t we are all adults playing on this playground,

or had I been mistaken?

when I took in,

all the grown up sights and sounds?

play games like you have power here among our kind,

unhealthy certainty in your wobbly-kneed stride,

I can practically taste the intentions that know are underneath,

like the fat off the bacon,

in the frying pan,

do not kid yourself into believing your own longstanding deceit.

Thoughts.

Theoretically, last night should have brought me the best sleep that I have had in some time, after hearing a jury’s guilty verdict of the man who ruined my daughter so long ago.
As I lay there in darkness with buds tightly squeezed into each ear playing Ben Bonetti’s “Hello Spider” meditational gig, I began to think about the Pedophile’s family (he has a wife and two children the same age as my own), and was overcome with grief.
Over the last few years, I’ve seen his wife various times in passing- on the news, and other places associated with the common denominator between us; there are ill feelings in the air during each of these instances, almost naturally. I have watched the Pedophile’s aged and decrepit mother hobble up and down three floors with her cane to trial so many times I couldn’t count them if I tried; I have seen the toll taken in the faces of his kids as they have become young adults, just like my own has; I have watched his family disintegrate into dust amidst the chaos of what he has done.
These things do not give me a sense of peace or fairness in any way…two shocked and completely torn children who stopped showing up at trial days altogether about halfway through…the jolly smile gradually fading altogether from his ancient, crippled mother’s face…the last string of hope attached to his poor wife’s perception of his innocence just falling away into nothingness…
the many scenes that would undoubtedly be enacted most dramatically for a movie; the parts in which the viewers would be pumping fists and shouting “Yeah! That’s what they get!”
But reality tells me differently now… “they” don’t deserve this at all. They have been victimized also (especially the kids) and have been also been permanently damaged and traumatized by the actions of their’ Pedophile father. His wife, who stood by her man for years before finally becoming so jaded and embittered by the proverbial “bag” that she was left to hold after her husband was arrested, she has been traumatized as well by the causes and effects of her husband’s Pedophilia; she has truly been changed in many ways by this circumstance – and I am not even someone who knows her, but it’s that apparent, even to a stranger, how heavy her burden weighs in on her back – it shows in her face, her disappointment and shame…and, that isn’t fair – she isn’t the Pedophile. Last night, I found myself wondering about her; about what she was doing in response to the news that lifted my spirits to new heights yesterday…what thoughts was she spending her night playing through her mind?
Anyway, I am obviously relieved beyond words that he has been convicted of many counts (not just Boo), but the verdict and its permanence holds many more facets to its shine that I had originally been prepared for, I guess.

Most Hated of Them All.

I hate her.
I hate the way her face displays,
all the things she hides from me;
I hate every breath that she takes.
I curse her smiles;
I make it rain all over her parades,
I saturate her blankets,
and every clothesline that she hangs.
I feel sick;
every time her victory banner is waved,
those with hearts as dark as hers,
do not deserve such good days.
I cast catching nets;
to halt the successes she’s made,
all the good she’s accomplished;
from within a questionable Human state.
I hunt her;
track marks in the mud from her chains,
her pace has picked up now,
but her attempts to escape are in vain.
I watch her;
watch each line appear in her face,
along the tip-toes of the crow’s feet,
so I step away from the mirror again.