I am writing this poem,
Not as an excuse but as a replacement.
I’ll throw you all anything
So long as my heart remains vacant.
You know how many times I’ve bitten my tongue?
Not for fear of wrongdoing,
For fear of telling the truth.
I’m a walking joke, hilarity on an eternal scale.
Those who care I won’t let know.
He who knows loves me too much
To not let me grow.
Yet here I wither.
Discarding soil and sun for rock and frigid snow.
I write about truth
Heartbreak and love,
All while marking life’s test
“None of the above”.
My flaws are numerous and vile.
Yes I know I am loved I’m not in denial.
That makes it all the worse, I can’t reconcile
My blessings and gifts with why I’m on trial.
The knowledge of Grace
Makes this an impossible race
To run with the footwear of my choice.
They matched my outfit so well.
But it was never about style,
Intention and direction are what matter.
Not how high we climb the ladder.
But high we aspire, rung after rung,
The construction of them loose.
And as I slip off I am hung,
Finding succor in a noose.
I suppose I knew I’d always falter,
At the last second scramble off the alter.
Would only I stretch out my hand in need
Rather than welcome the grave in the throes of my greed.
I hear you. Feel you. Know you.
And pay no heed.
Fuck form and function.
This poem is a junction
Between Bullshit Boulevard
And Diffident Drive.
I don’t care who knows,
I’m dying to feel alive.