You typed out
your lack of desire
to keep the charade going.
You proffered
a predicted end to this existential
ebb and flow
of day by day
madness and miasma.
Yet, I could not abide
and
rest assured that I am no savior
nor saint.
My robes are terry cloth
with sequins, none.
No cape,
no boots,
no symbols of better than whomever.
I have only an unwillingness to stop.
Because stopping is
to ensure that the darkness
and
the demons prevail
and
I refuse
to allow that to occur today.
Together,
dear unknown one,
we will become as phoenix;
being reborn
in the flame of overcoming.
Tempered we will be,
in the forge of discomfort
and
disquiet,
knowing still that we can be better,
we can do better,
we can become better than what is now,
doing so for our future selves
and
those who call us
by names other than our very own.
You typed out
your lack of desire
to keep the charade going.
However,
I see no charade at all.
I see honest insecurity.
A self-doubt that staggers.
I see a sadness
that seeps out of shin bones
rising clear up to the eyes
and
leaks out as heavy as a downpour
for reasons that have little
in the way of explanation.
I tell you,
little friend,
it’s not your fault.
We live in a society
driven mad by algorithms
that over-gift us our own brain chemicals
and
leave us like addicts
at the doorsteps
of churches or taverns,
trap houses
or jail cells.
Our more advanced existence
has handicapped
our ability to
communicate effectively.
The savvy
among our beastly brethren
take full advantage
of the last sinew of innocence
that we have left.
Hold fast,
dearheart,
for this tumult of your youth
will leave scars
and
capture your good heart
in a cage,
leaving a stone in its place.
We mustn't allow this.
To do so creates a decay
like rust or rot,
which is so difficult to recover from
because it stains everything
and
everyone it touches.
Even now,
we are surrounded
by the skeptical,
the cynical,
the altogether untoward
and
unwilling to be otherwise.
You typed out
your lack of desire
to keep the charade going.
Be advised,
if it hurts,
it’s not a charade at all,
it is an investment
in a desire for change
that feels like something better
than what is right now,
what is wrong now.
We will seek a new now;
and
know that there are more of us,
more of you,
more of we
than you can even imagine.
All that I ask
is that you continue…
for yourself,
for my own self,
for the selves
that we have yet to become,
but will eventually.
So, please,
Exist.
Exist for me.
I'll exist for you.
Together we'll exist
for all of the people
who love
and
need us in this world.
Maybe,
even some people
we have yet to meet.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications 2021
May 30, 2021
May 30, 2021 at 8:08 PM UTC
You typed out
your lack of desire
to keep the charade going.
You proffered
a predicted end to this existential
ebb and flow
of day by day
madness and miasma.
Yet, I could not abide
and
rest assured that I am no savior
nor saint.
My robes are terry cloth
with sequins, none.
No cape,
no boots,
no symbols of better than whomever.
I have only an unwillingness to stop.
Because stopping is
to ensure that the darkness
and
the demons prevail
and
I refuse
to allow that to occur today.
Together,
dear unknown one,
we will become as phoenix;
being reborn
in the flame of overcoming.
Tempered we will be,
in the forge of discomfort
and
disquiet,
knowing still that we can be better,
we can do better,
we can become better than what is now,
doing so for our future selves
and
those who call us
by names other than our very own.
You typed out
your lack of desire
to keep the charade going.
However,
I see no charade at all.
I see honest insecurity.
A self-doubt that staggers.
I see a sadness
that seeps out of shin bones
rising clear up to the eyes
and
leaks out as heavy as a downpour
for reasons that have little
in the way of explanation.
I tell you,
little friend,
it’s not your fault.
We live in a society
driven mad by algorithms
that over-gift us our own brain chemicals
and
leave us like addicts
at the doorsteps
of churches or taverns,
trap houses
or jail cells.
Our more advanced existence
has handicapped
our ability to
communicate effectively.
The savvy
among our beastly brethren
take full advantage
of the last sinew of innocence
that we have left.
Hold fast,
dearheart,
for this tumult of your youth
will leave scars
and
capture your good heart
in a cage,
leaving a stone in its place.
We mustn't allow this.
To do so creates a decay
like rust or rot,
which is so difficult to recover from
because it stains everything
and
everyone it touches.
Even now,
we are surrounded
by the skeptical,
the cynical,
the altogether untoward
and
unwilling to be otherwise.
You typed out
your lack of desire
to keep the charade going.
Be advised,
if it hurts,
it’s not a charade at all,
it is an investment
in a desire for change
that feels like something better
than what is right now,
what is wrong now.
We will seek a new now;
and
know that there are more of us,
more of you,
more of we
than you can even imagine.
All that I ask
is that you continue…
for yourself,
for my own self,
for the selves
that we have yet to become,
but will eventually.
So, please,
Exist.
Exist for me.
I'll exist for you.
Together we'll exist
for all of the people
who love
and
need us in this world.
Maybe,
even some people
we have yet to meet.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications 2021
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