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JohnMPoems
I'm not quite sure what did it... It could have been watching Mother being beaten or knowing Father was the one giving the beatings. It may have been when it was my turn for the beatings. It may have been the first time I experienced the futility of existing here and now, there and then. It could have been the first time I felt an irrational fear of climbing under the porch with all the spiders and dark places, or the subsequent shame imposed on me because my little sister was the one who saved the stuck kitten. It might have been the time I rammed that same sister's head into the side of the stove and then threatened retaliation if she told on me. It may have been thinking as a child I was destined for mediocrity, even though I knew I was born to be great... II. Knee deep in thick muck, ******** and fuckery, we trudge on and on and through it all.... III. Everyone is dying. Some, quicker than others. I'm going to ride this out for a while... IV. Hi Hey, you look cute *Fat. You look ******* fat poured into that stupid dress. You are not seventeen anymore lady, jesus!* ... V. I can hear you breathing while doing yoga; a slow inhale, pause, controlled exhale. Your body is a.... VI. Another ten hour shift with the crew of ******* ******** If I wasn't the boss I'd have cracked some ****** heads wide open by now. These ******* don't know **** VII. My plants need watering, wilting next to grandmas paintings... VIII. So, you think you know me... VIIII. Spare parts. Lots of folks out there made from spare parts. Pieces that almost fit. My knees were laying around out back somewhere; they were beaten into place. They got most of the dimensions right but the joints are tight... X. It takes two weeks for your kisses to reach me, and two seconds for my blood to fill the empty spaces... XI. Wait...just wait. Don't go. I was only kidding. **** XII. Light. Bouncing all over the place. Light. Reflected into you... XIII. These giant guardians on the boulevard, My friends, these tremendous sycamores, have been keeping watch my entire life. They tried warning me... XIV. Two years later and your taste is gone but your smells still linger in the dark folds of memory... XV. This is going to be offensive to most. Inappropriate? Some might say. I wouldn't... XVI. These so called poems from these so called poets about cutting yourself and suicide really can wear a guy out. My tendency towards empathy and compassion, tested daily, wears incredibly thin. I've been there, not my thing, this cutting. I'd rather burn flesh. We've all got our thing right? Except self harm isn't my thing. Not a thing I do, just a thing I did. I wonder if these tortured souls make it through the next hour after reading one after another cry for help. I wonder if some do it just for shock value, some just to goad their creators. I wonder if I am reading a poem or a suicide letter. It's unnerving. I'm all for suicide; I suggest everyone try it at least once. Just quit with the incessant ******** XVII. Cut my throat and leave me to the jackals for I would rather drown in desert sand than submit to the will of anyone I do not trust... XVIII. ****** clamps, lead weights. Paddles, restraints... XVIIII. I sat alone, from nowhere a warm, blue light surrounded me. ** Balancing these monkeys on my back with the demons in my mind and... 21. I smell ******** a mile away ************ and you stink. I see you shuckin' and jivin', be-boppin' around like you are some kind of badass... 22. And now there are no flowers on the table and no long, dark hairs on my pillow...
0
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 2:46 AM UTC
Unfinished....
I'm not quite sure what did it... It could have been watching Mother being beaten or knowing Father was the one giving the beatings. It may have been when it was my turn for the beatings. It may have been the first time I experienced the futility of existing here and now, there and then. It could have been the first time I felt an irrational fear of climbing under the porch with all the spiders and dark places, or the subsequent shame imposed on me because my little sister was the one who saved the stuck kitten. It might have been the time I rammed that same sister's head into the side of the stove and then threatened retaliation if she told on me. It may have been thinking as a child I was destined for mediocrity, even though I knew I was born to be great... II. Knee deep in thick muck, ******** and fuckery, we trudge on and on and through it all.... III. Everyone is dying. Some, quicker than others. I'm going to ride this out for a while... IV. Hi Hey, you look cute *Fat. You look ******* fat poured into that stupid dress. You are not seventeen anymore lady, jesus!* ... V. I can hear you breathing while doing yoga; a slow inhale, pause, controlled exhale. Your body is a.... VI. Another ten hour shift with the crew of ******* ******** If I wasn't the boss I'd have cracked some ****** heads wide open by now. These ******* don't know **** VII. My plants need watering, wilting next to grandmas paintings... VIII. So, you think you know me... VIIII. Spare parts. Lots of folks out there made from spare parts. Pieces that almost fit. My knees were laying around out back somewhere; they were beaten into place. They got most of the dimensions right but the joints are tight... X. It takes two weeks for your kisses to reach me, and two seconds for my blood to fill the empty spaces... XI. Wait...just wait. Don't go. I was only kidding. **** XII. Light. Bouncing all over the place. Light. Reflected into you... XIII. These giant guardians on the boulevard, My friends, these tremendous sycamores, have been keeping watch my entire life. They tried warning me... XIV. Two years later and your taste is gone but your smells still linger in the dark folds of memory... XV. This is going to be offensive to most. Inappropriate? Some might say. I wouldn't... XVI. These so called poems from these so called poets about cutting yourself and suicide really can wear a guy out. My tendency towards empathy and compassion, tested daily, wears incredibly thin. I've been there, not my thing, this cutting. I'd rather burn flesh. We've all got our thing right? Except self harm isn't my thing. Not a thing I do, just a thing I did. I wonder if these tortured souls make it through the next hour after reading one after another cry for help. I wonder if some do it just for shock value, some just to goad their creators. I wonder if I am reading a poem or a suicide letter. It's unnerving. I'm all for suicide; I suggest everyone try it at least once. Just quit with the incessant ******** XVII. Cut my throat and leave me to the jackals for I would rather drown in desert sand than submit to the will of anyone I do not trust... XVIII. ****** clamps, lead weights. Paddles, restraints... XVIIII. I sat alone, from nowhere a warm, blue light surrounded me. ** Balancing these monkeys on my back with the demons in my mind and... 21. I smell ******** a mile away ************ and you stink. I see you shuckin' and jivin', be-boppin' around like you are some kind of badass... 22. And now there are no flowers on the table and no long, dark hairs on my pillow...
It all makes sense to me...
JohnM
Written by
JohnM
American
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 2:46 AM UTC
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