I asked myself
what is your biggest fear?
I heard myself reply
my biggest fear is
to be deeply known
but not loved deeply

He struts down the sidewalk
With a hint of a frown
His spoon swings beside him
Jaunty hat as his crown.

Childers peep with a gasp
As they watch him strut down
The musk that follows him
The stains on his gown.

There he goes, they whisper,
As the sun settles down
The Badass Chef, they say,
Of this Badass Town.

He pounds dough to a pulp
Whisking eggs beyond shape
Beets up on the salad
Stomping vatfulls of grape.

Skewers meat without thought
Chops neat through a bone
Flays sharks without care
Needs no sous, works alone

The Badass Chef
Of this Badass Town.

He hangs up his cleaver
At the end of the day
Dripping droplets of what
None have courage to say

He blows out his flambe
Spoon back at his side
Turns back to his war zone
Fists clenched with quiet pride

There he goes, they whisper,
As the sun settles down
The Badass Chef
Of this Badass Town.

I wish your parents would come to watch your shows.
I know it hurts you.
Seeing you sad
Is like every orchestra on earth playing out of key all at once
Pianissimo
So softly that the sound only buzzes against the skin
But casts a dulling shadow on the whole world.
And you wouldn’t be you
If you understood,
But I wish
They did.
I know it hurt you when we were kids-
They didn’t show up then either.
I always noticed,
And I think that it wasn’t enough
To know that we all watched you with awe
Your group
Your people
Your little army of girls
We would probably have followed you into hell
But
I think you felt the empty seats where They should have been
Even as you succeeded over and over,
Even as you wondered why everyone thought you were so great.
I used to try and explain,
And
You wouldn’t be you if you
Understood
But I wish
They did.
And I’m sorry
And I hope you know
It’s their **** loss
Because whenever I saw you perform when we were younger
And whenever I see you sing now
I feel like someone has turned the sun on
Indoors.
Everybody does.
That’s how you make people feel
Without trying,
That’s why they get so stuck on you.
And you wouldn’t be you
If you understood,
But I wish
They did.
I wish your mom and dad
Could see the way you light up the room when you make music
And I wish that they wanted to
Because they have such a gift in you
As a performer, as an artist, as a human being
And you wouldn’t be you
If you understood,
But I wish
They did.
They should understand
They could have watched you change us and inspire us
They could have watched you create
They could have admired your kindness and your talent
And they still could now,
And I think
It’s so sad-
That they waste their chance to enjoy the person you became
While they
Were too busy to look.

I'm a beginner's violin,
A rental for newborns,
Carried crooked, strummed silly --
A hasty, cacophonous frustration.
Sometimes, my abuser will discover a melody within,
But I'm left abandoned each and every time.
A bruised composite of groans and tireless hours,
I'm useless to the former novice --
To the master musician seeking a worthy companion --
And I'm tossed to the next clueless dreamer.

I'm nothing but a stepping stone,
The first on the path -- the most walked-on of all.
I'm the start of a new journey, never the finish.
I'm the easiest one to trample.
I'm the training wheels that the little boy hates that he needs,
All too eager to outgrow and to pry from his bike of a life.

I'm the catalyst that pushes caterpillar to butterfly.

Most supportive, least desired,
Once I raise them, they're gone by morning --
Never a thank you, never a nod, never a thought.

i try not to blame her
she makes you happy
and if you deserve anything
it is to be happy but
every time i see your eyes light up at her
brighter than they ever did at me
there’s a pang of aching jealousy that
hits me and my stomach drops to the floor
i wish i could be her
i wish i had her long blond hair,
perfectly shaped lips and thin hips
i wish i could’ve made you as happy as
she makes you.

soon i’ll be gone from your memory
i’d like to say the same for you of mine but
i know the thought of you kissing her will be
enough to keep me up at night for weeks

it’s not her fault, it’s not her fault, it’s not her fault
(is it mine?)

A dying horse,
Was being dragged over a marked cross,
On the ground its body lay,
Mocked and tortured up all the way,
Only few blinks with tears filled eyes,
Waiting for its beats to stop while the time flies,
There it lay next to its grave,
Hoping to be pushed in by the masters slave,
A few more minutes before the soul surrenders,
Once loved and praised by many spenders,
Now the weak await for the death to fall,
To free its soul from its body, once admired by all,
The eyes stopped blinking,
The tears stopped rolling,
The heart stopped beating,
The poor horse stopped breathing,
Pushed in its grave by the masters slave,
No one to praise or raise hands to wave,
Gone are the people who came along,
Finally resting its body in the grave alone...

©sim