Writing when I should be listening
Lost in translation from mind to ink.
This delicate poetry between the pages
These lacy images that make me think.

Bringing down the damaged walls
With words that seem to come alive.
This delicate poetry between the pages
Inspiring my disheartened soul to thrive.

I’m no great poet, whose lines can move
Another’s eyes to fill with tears
But this delicate poetry between the pages
Can speak for me beyond my years.

I have a wish, I have a dream,
As silly as they both may seem,
And if my wish would just come true,
I'd wish nothing but the best for you.
And waking from my dream, I'd find
You'd wished the same for me, in kind.

Oh, heart, thou art fickle!
And it seems that fickle frailty is catching;
Like a blazing wood, whose embers are caught
In cross winds, then spread to the next awaiting tree.
I am contagious, catching, infectious.
The CDC wouldn’t be equipped for the prowess
Of my unhindered virus that clings to everyone I caress.
Like a yawn in a kindergarten class,
I need but one chance to spread throughout the mass.
Come here. Let me embrace you.
Let me rest my hand on yours.
Let me pass this frailty on.
Let me test your immunity.
It’ll only take one test.
One kiss. That’s all.

Love is a drug.
It's a depressant, stimulant & hallucinagen.
Love is an anxiolytic & antipsychotic,
It's a mood stabilizer & antidepressant.
Love is the treatment for my instability.
So where is my ******-pharmacologist?
Where's my script for rose-colored glasses?
Doesn't he see that I need my Klonopin;
My Zoloft is running low.
My Haldol is depleted & my Adderal is out.
I'm shaking with anxiety
My depression's dragging my down
To the depths I just escaped.
I'm seeing things that shouldn't be.
And I'm running in circles, too afraid to stop.
Where is my ******-pharmacologist?
Why won't he give me my daily dose,
One simple touch to give me sanity?

Why the hell do we do this to ourselves?
I imagine the bottle being slide across the bar
Back and forth, back and forth
Between those long fingers and
That distant gaze you get when watching the game
But you aren’t really watching, are you?
What you’re trying not to let people see is
The reminiscent guise on your face
While you think that not too long ago
Someone was sitting next to you
Looking off into the distance with thoughts wavering
Between you and them.
Back and forth, back and forth.
But that’s the way it’s always been, hasn’t it?
A little give and a little take until the giving goes shy.
I miss the image I hold in my mind of you.
The mask you wore so keenly for others, but rarely for me.
I could see through the bottles and the cigarette smoke
Filling that dense bar on the main drag.
I could see through the fake smiles to hide the pain
Because I wore the same mask as you.
And now I hold in my mind and in my heart
The memories and unlike any before I cherish them.
I cherish those wonderfully silent moment shared
Where words were not necessary.
While my memories are merely dreams
Hiding in the shadows of my contemplative mind
I will still grasp for them in times like this
Where I look back and all I see is you
And all I hear is your voice filling my head with harsh realities.
You never were one to ******* me.
And so, even on a night like this when my heart is sallow and heavy
I close my eyes and reflect. Happy that my wish to forget you
So many times had not been granted.
Even as you’re the concrete latched to my legs
As I tread these cold waters, I am content.
Content to have known you and loved you.
Content to have shared something worth treading for,
Whether you see the shore for the breakers or not.

These words I have are far from perfect
And falling from this shattered mind
Onto this faulty canvas
Lined with contempt and bitter need
And still I search.
I search for words so powerful
And prowess laced,
Lined with beautifully embroidered imagery,
That you'd find yourself swayed
If ever so slightly.
You'd let those rigid rules collapse
And lie in rubble, carrying them no longer.
Emboldened by such moving motivations
That you'd need no Divine causations
For a full and fulfilled life.
No necessary God & Devil to paint
Your grayscale day to day.
You'd have only the colorful clarity
Found in Human imagery
And artistry to motivated enough.
These words I have are far from perfect,
With their creator being further still.

To be perfectly clear …
I’m a nut case.
Not only a nut case, but a hard-luck case
Wrapped up nice and neat
With Saran wrap of mental maladies
And bubble wrapped with faulty perceptions
And you know what?
It’s ******* comfortable in this box.
Relaxed is a side effect of anxiety,
Like having an ******, you get tense
Then that sweet release that leaves you
Melting into the mattress, that’s what my “disorder” does to me.
And while you sit and you stare and you judge and you blame
I … smile and wipe the sweat and tears from my face.
So, to be perfectly clear.
I’m nothing but a beautifully taped box
Of stress, anger, resentment and depression
With a slight mixture of joy and pride mixed in
Waiting to be shipped off
To anyone, anywhere, away from that gaze
Of unrestrained disdain.
And so, again, to be ever so clear.
I’m what you’d call emotionally unavailable,
Damaged goods, as I’m sure you can see
The dents my last handlers left behind for me
To bash out to regain a sense of normalcy,
Then you had to come along and reveal them all again.
Thanks for that. And sorry, but the person you are trying
So desperately to reach is Unavailable.
To be perfectly clear.