It's 4:10 in the AM and I need to write
My second *** and diet coke is taking affect
Partly because I'm running out of diet coke
and partly because I want so desperately to be in this state of mind
I need creative release.
(This is ironic because I'm an artist.)
At least, when people ask me what I do... I say I'm an artist
But lately I can't
Just.
Can't.
I've run up against some demon
Who chants "thou shall not pass, thou shalt NOT"
He is likely a remnant of my last relationship.
I see her everywhere.
I think she drives a silver sedan now
So whenever I see one driving past, I shiver.
There are a million in my small city.
I see ALL of them.
I smile when they pass
So on the off chance she is occupying the driver's seat,
She will know that I overcame her bitterness
I am hypocrisy through and through.
The tobacco on my shirt stinks of all the false promises I've never kept.
It is a vile reminder that I am a cliché wrapped in a gas station burrito
I am naked here.
I am exposing all of the parts that I've vowed to keep inside.
Inside where the A/C can keep the sweat from revealing itself.
My creativity is a joke.
(I don't understand the punch line but I continue to laugh.)
She must have gobbled up the right hemisphere of my brain.
Maybe not her, but the ever-present ghost of what I agreed to allow into my soul
Her white-hot beautiful and angry ghost
Why can't I remove her violent spirit from my bedroom.
Jesus Christ hear me as I cry your name.
Exercise the ghosts of my last three years.
I sweat realism.
You would disagree if you saw my paintings.
Playful.
Happy.
Primary triad displayed proudly.
It's that part of me that says that this very poem needs editing.
It needs to be set right.
It needs.
THIS POEM IS SELF AWARE.