i feel like it becomes overwhelming
so many of my poems feel hateful
and i hate it

i want to write happy light stuff
about summer days and flowers
and feeling breezes
and skirts blowing
in that breeze

it’s only when a stranger starts picking
pulling bark and sap starts running
desperately retreating to the warm comfort
of the mud around those buried roots

it’s only when you let down defenses
the brick let’s way to picket fences
and discomfort displaces the sun
of a summer day

am i a clam laboring away at a precious pearl,
or just a broken boy turning my back on the world?

the wick burnt out with no more wax to melt
i watch the picture frame go dark and quiet
no more memories and the fire that i felt
was as cold as the asphalt on which i slept

i don’t know what i want
but i think i know what i don’t
slowly lowered six feet deep
without a soul to see it

fist to cheek with a bouncer, dodging tabs
or stuck to a cedar stool
eye level with a rocks glass

dimly lit circle of chairs with strangers
sharing stories of some substance
and it’s dangers

christmas  with no gifts
and explaining to my son
why mom and i are taking shifts

these deepest fears feel like reality
and i know my life will lead me
to being slowly lowered six feet deep
without a soul to see it

as i define the muscle
and chisel the truths from stone
the sediment leaves chalk words
on my heart that imply my ill intent
gritting my teeth i repent
that true beauty lies within
because if i can’t change what i hate
then how can i deserve to live?

broken knuckles
holes in walls
blistered palms
battered soul
no answers for a man in pain
no silver lining to clouds of hate
everybody i love hates me too, dude

i am the gravel
grabbing skateboard wheels
and skinning knees