I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate,
I already pulled at my hair.
“It’s normal” he says
I swear just to debate,
cause he doesn’t seem to care.

And I’m bleeding through
my scar tissued skin,
the layers only grew
still I find a way in.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate,
I’ll be down to the last strand.
Check or fold the plays,
the cards aren’t that great
I’ll be down the my last hand.

And I’m bleeding through
my thick nice sweater.
It’s a shame as it’s new
and we’re reaching the cold weather.
It will stain the soft fabric
I may just grab the bleach,
but I always made it a habit
to always keep it just out of reach.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate
pretty soon I’ll be bald.
On hot coals she stays,
though she shifts her weight
and watches her soles scald.

And I’m bleeding through
my clogged and blocked pores,
and the remaining few
are becoming septic sores.
I’ll shed another layer
of a non-protective bubble,
and my hair will continue to get greyer,
I think I’m now in some trouble.

how sick the mirrors are    of visiting our dumb faces
how weary the door is    of being bolted for our precious privacy
how dreary are our voices  to the walls
          as they are trounced  by our mad surly language ?
are the beds exhausted absorbing our stains ?
are the chairs knackered enduring our strain ?

how burdened are the tables by our taxes ?
how taxed are the windows projecting in ?
is the plumbing fatigued
          or the electric stressed ?
how geared up and fearful are the stairs
           as we begin our ascent ?
how bent out of shape is the ovens mood
           to bloat with heat and then cook our food ?

the engines of our house are in order
though  they must consider their efforts wasted
                     maintaining our bewildering lifestyle

Yesterdays leaf
springs lithe and green,
of promise fine and fair,
todays is dry and parched and brown
its lifeblood fled elsewhere,
a cracked and fragile brittle thing
where hope no longer flowers,
how could this be,
how came you change,
full cursed by bitter hours

Overwhelming from all sides
But it’s easy to be lost in the waves
of feeling that you’re stuck
Arise now, march into the meaninglessness
of your receding breath
Weak now, more than it was last minute
But yielding in was never an option

I almost fell down the pit
But I was held up by a thousand strings
I was glad they saved me
But not the pain it brings

It took every muscle to hold me up
For the strings, I had to carry them all
But maybe I want a break
Maybe for once I want to fall

I had never met my grandfather
Because he died of a heart attack
And my father got heart medication from the drive-through pharmacy
While I watched calmly from the back
And at the doctor some years ago
They told me there was some foods I'd have to cut back
They both were perfectionists
So with my self-made stress, how can I bounce back?
I'll go my whole life achieving my dreams
Without once looking back
So don't compare me to them, no matter how similar we look
Don't curse me with a heart attack.

A hermit crab
In love with his bongo.
Scuffles on with his bongo beat.
Each thump filling the empty space
Around him.
He walks the hot concrete.
In search of something like home.
His shell dragging behind
Weighing him down.
The thump no longer loud enough
To move its tiny body.
The rhythm barely rattling around its
shell.
After a while everything can turn into a drag.
But still, he scuffles on.
He smiles, stopping to take a break
On the grass.
The concrete burning his feet.
His tiny claws scraping across the bongo.
He looks over to his left.
To find an old boot.
Nodding her head, tapping the ground
Following along to the beat.
Although weathered, she too smiled.
Echoing back his loud thuds.
Her sole cracked but full of life.
Life happens in the strangest way sometimes.
Two outcasts alone.
Drumming up stories without a word.
Scuffling on a bongo heart.
Life doesn't have to be a drag all the time.