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Apparently expectations are the disappoints dressed in Halloween costumes all year long
I expected a chariot,
was trained to hold reins,
feed horses,
and know when to whip them.
Hours I spent shuffling across sheer faces
to teach me the balance necessary.
I took notes from oaks on how to keep my feet firmly planted,
legs bending, never breaking.
I suffered the hurricane
to learn to not blink with wind in my face.
I humored Time, to learn from its spinning wheel
so that I might know my own.
I turned to the trust of beasts
thinking they might one day guide me.
I glared at charioteers,
My coliseum competition.
I sat, eyes closed, by the ocean
To acquaint me with a roar
I would expect from an audience.
I stripped myself bare
So that I may learn the choices of judges.
I was prepared for a chariot.

But what arrived was a ratty coup of unknown make;
a wheezing, rusted contraption with wobbling wheels,
a cracked, insect-stained windscreen,
valves of leaky ichor,
a missing cigarette lighter,
a lockless glove box,
a tailpipe that belched black omen,
windows that rolled by hand and got stuck,
seats of the kind of leather your skin sticks to in the summer and froze in winter,
and an AM/FM radio filled with static.
No spare tire.

I was livid.


This vehicle was to carry me to my onward days,
to the paradise of my imagination?
I was to collude with my romantics in the passenger seat
of this rolling mausoleum?
To commute to my place of wage
and not have my vessel reflect my value?
To pass my days of leisure
knowing a bunker of my perturbation watched from the driveway?

I tried to hew a chariot of my own,
but first the wood of the trees of my garden proved too weak.
Then my crooked wheels seemed to want to separate away from each other.
And the only beasts to pull it were dogs,
made fat from the gristle of my meals that I threw them
in my days of anticipation.
I conceded to the coup.

Misery so often my chauffeur,
I plotted and plodded along with the wheels I was given,
Diverting my eyes from Apollos in the sky,
Pulled by glistening pegasi.

A friend,
also couped up,
Told me to make the most of it.
So I’ve been trying.

I tried to take its namelessness as something to which I might give a name.
As it wheezed I heard it breathing, liable to collapse, but
Alive
nonetheless.
The warped wheels wove their own way,
and I imagined the invisible burden of unseen beasts
with greater senses of direction than mine.
I saw the insects in front of me as company.
As the pipes oozed, I conjured hopes that they were like a gallbladder,
concentrating bile then removing it.
I sensed that the missing lighter meant I shouldn’t be smoking.
The glove box lacked a latch for ease of access,
and I read from the messages scrawled in smoke in my rear-view mirror.
The effort made to breathe through the manual windows
made me appreciate the breaths I took.
The broken sound system taught me to make my own music.
And the lack of a spare tire taught me to drive very, very carefully;
There would be no second chances.

The coup is a symptom of my broken hopes for my future’s reality.
But,
unlike the chariot,
it is real,
and its state of breaking can
Hopefully
be fixed.
I can sit when I wish to be seated.
I can bring others with me wherever.
The direction is dictated by me and not the whims of beasts.
The AC stutters, but it’s there.
There’s a trunk where I can put my memories.
And,
also unlike the chariot,
I can go very, very fast
if I want to.
a piece on life expectations
Truth under my breath
But nobody can hear the words.
I’m thinking out loud, what’s keeping me alive?
What’s keeping my mind occupied on Mars,
Fickle friends and fast cars?

I’m too nervous to
Stand in the room, waiting for the world to swoon.
I don’t see none of my regrets
And I don’t need anybody’s help.

A puppet on the string,
Control everything.

I don’t need any more regrets.
And I don’t see anybody’s help.
But I don’t see anybody else.
Just mute me.
So deep, lost into thoughts
How would I've known...
I was the only one...
All along matching the dots.
Deep down somewhere
Expecting your hand
Sadly I didn't even knew
I was standing solo...
On the boundless abandoned land.
I’d rather be loved than be wanted
A desire of me means something you need
Something for me to provide or a deed
To help or to guide, inspire or drive
You may want my money
You could need my time
But what if I’m busy?
Or what if I’m tired?
What if I don’t want to fulfil your desire?
Then you won’t want me
But you won’t let me be
You’ll tear me down further
Until I provide what you need

But to be loved, no requirements? Could set my soul free
RJ Romero Sep 30
Dreams feel real until
your eyes open
Sunlight fills
the dark room
without hesitation your hands moved
Checking
the side of the bed, you looked
Nothing but mattress

There’s a space unfilled
that the midnight answered
A figure etched in your head
but faceless
Only a hint was left
of the joy and calmness
that the Sandman
sprinkled during the witching hour
Leaving an empty husk
in plain white shirt
clutching her chest
Erica Squire Sep 27
Tell me the rules of your perceived reality,
So that I can live up to your expectation of me.
Because isn’t that what love is?
To sacrifice your own reality for a blend of the two?
To love is to sacrifice,
To sacrifice is to lose,
And to lose is to hurt.
But am I okay with the pain that results from love?
Yes, but only because I know.

I know that love is more than hurt,
I know that love is more than the feeling of it being ripped away,
Without care for you wanting to cling to it.
I know that love is more than constant giving,
Resulting in the emptiness that eats away,
When the night grows into morning.

If I love at my fiercest my heart with ache more,
But it will also be comforted more,
It will be.
It must be,
Otherwise it is all for not.
twenty one
between an adolescent and an adult
a pretty number, don't you think?

twenty one
two decades of breathing and screaming
one year of confusion and uncertainty

twenty one
too young to handle; too old to let go
what they want us to do though?

twenty one; it's hard
expectations and desires fought inside
one foul step, and you fall in despair
for you, generation z, desperate for a change
Carl Miller Sep 18
Uncertainty, a razor to the skin

Expectations, a close shave
Rosmary Penn Sep 15
blood spilling slowly from my chest
watch it puddle on the floor
yes I tried, I gave my best
yet they always asked for more

now dissolving into the earth
back to the dust I came from
sleeping in sky, not hearse
if only my heart would numb

forgot about limitations
what I'd give to feel nothing
drowning in expectations
just wanted to be something
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