I am one to have my emotions under control.

Seventeen years of maneuvering around other’s
Peculiar mood swings
Taught me how to ignore
The chaos of human sentiment.
And so my features remain stoic since.

I have learned how to channel the anxiety
Manifesting itself in a jittery leg, shortness of breath,
And a discordant mind.
It is possible– Quite easy, actually–
To translate a torrent of worry
Into potential energy.

Three years in a closet
Is time enough to collect many pretty dresses
And forget there is ugliness in the world.
As much as I preach the virtue of honesty,
Lying has become second nature,
If only to keep these shark-infested waters
Calm for one more day.

I ought to be devoid of sentiment by now,
As much of a shell as that detestable Louisa Bounderby.
However, I recently found myself mistaken;
I am not a product of Utilitarianism.

Recently, I’ve been feeling–
Oddly ill.
With a loss of appetite,
A churning stomach herbal tea cannot alleviate,
Difficulty sleeping,
And a racing heartbeat.
These symptoms are purely somatic
And therefore, quite frustrating.

I met a girl last week;
I wonder if I caught it from her.

Thomas came from the school of hard facts
No Gradgrind, yet, had slipped through its cracks
A Bounderby born saw light in this day
Believing flowers belong outside with the hay

In Louisa G,
Thoughts would flee
It was clear to see
Just not on bended knee

The girl would gaze towards a flame
Far too majestic to tame
And there hours would disappear
As “Fancy” hesitantly slipped near

A circus of thought
Nine oils bought
*****’s distraught
Isolation caught

Her father left home
A sad clown made to roam
Metaphor in a poem
Lost, no need to atone

A foster child of Logic
There’s no need to frolic
Study enveloped her life
While Louisa became a wife

Married and bound to an age differential
That made her hubby seem quite parental

Thomas had begun new work
Money earned, quite the perk
Then it vanished with great haste
Gambled away like simple waste

His sister, Loo, called to bail
Thomas, who had found life stale
Her few possessions drift away
On donations to her brother’s dismay

Time moves on with little give
Debts build like the weight of a fib
Soon Thomas pleads for far too much,
100 dollars, please rush

Louisa, was completely tapped out
Her brother had broken an ever-flowing spout
He used every penny of the girl’s love
Then drifted, like a fleeting dove.

Her husband, Josiah, sat none the wiser,
Cuddled by the facts of a rude little miser
Then came a parliamentary heart of house,
James snuck in quiet as a mouse.

Mr. Harthouse was a man of great esteem
He came to Coketown on track-lines powered by steam
There he met the wife of a cold little man
And his pursuit of affection began

Lousia had no need for affection
Or for that matter unwanted attention
Yet, as Thomas fell
She thought the notion seemed quite swell

Conversations began with ease
Mr. Harthouse was certainly no ******
Operated amongst the ideas of her school
And even sat earnestly while listening to Stephen Blackpool

…

A servant to no deviant will
And master of a mere peasant’s skill
Stephan spoke in broken phrase
Sentences flowed like a tainted maze

A public speaker the man was not
Still, in front of many, he unraveled a plot
The man spoke with flagrant passion
But, it drifted off in latent fashion

The entirety a man stood casting doubt
Blockading the meager man’s route
Stephan carried on until all was lost
His employment in fact the first major cost.


...unfinished :(