#shadowsandlight
Why is all the world light, and I am small underneath?
Just a black bottom under this apple tree?
Why am I in the limelight, the foreground?
The light pours no citrus drink, but a cyanide fruit pit pound!
The over-saturated curtains tail my frail feet.
Much busier than a yellow-black bee, bumping till its stinger gets caught in a fabric hemming
and it dies with no one noticing.
The girl who reads, the tree that sifts its rotten leaves;
they care less, less for a discoloration that unfortunately eats at me.
Even when the elders waltz the foxtrot dance so that even my dwarf legs can follow suit,
I will never be quite slow, or fast enough? for all of you.
I disintegrate daily into almost nothing.
I stare, but no one stares at me.
Oh, haven’t I written a piece about shadows and light?
What’s with me! I use the same machine work!
Metaphors, imageries, diction, diction mutating to a deeper fiction. Unoriginal it is!
The masses cling onto clichès with their pointed teeth;
why can’t I, I lodge into that all-inclusion?
Why do I repeat my own themes? Have I never learned critical thinking?
I depend on repetition: same old, same old (did I mention the old ‘same’?)
thing to grasp any new concept!
Maladaptive daydreamer
who cannot conjure up any ink
of fresh difference! What purpose do I hold
in this awful, spineless world?
I am too awfully, awfully simple and dumb
to succeed in any other playing field!
Reality, what foreign entity is she?
Maybe a solemn quiet would do it for me.
(So maybe I’ll have an extended vacation,
and revisit my only talent some other day.)
What do the (sappy) honey-loving poets write on?
The (sawdust) stardust in eye pupils, and
igniting our hearts alight (till it guzzles that red stream and we become only such, and the carpet gets a free dye job).
Apparently, everything pure and worthy is atomized into
(carbolic soap I allow carbonation of its soda acid in my eyes) diamonds.
On the subject of atomic level substances,
let's rehearse the Compton effect:
Heat me up to a hundred keV
like cheap microwave dinner, so that I propel—
whoosh!— tink against metallic beings
till I decrease, and I am powerless.
Each new orbit of opportunity I seize,
I result with less, and the opportunity snatches from me.
Glistening shoe shiner whose price tag appeals to the average Joe,
then I swipe: scuffing up my rounded toe.
She tattooed those other girls’ arrow on herself because:
“I’m pulled back to soar farther,”
yet this stretching has lasted for… months?
Compare this not to a crossbow, but to that of a
medieval rack, that gruesome torture device!
My tissue is tearing asunder, but this is polar from breaking bread!
I ache, I ache, I ache! Isn’t yoga supposed to tranquilize you to a grounded state, not death?
Why is the world so light when I am so heavy?
Why must I “lust for a life” that lusts not for me?
Aug 29, 2020
Aug 29, 2020 at 3:51 PM UTC
_A blemish_ across the mark of my skin —
screamed into a corner, I’ve screened my
eyes. My chest is like a TV screen, the flashes
of _a dream_ —the world waits for me to
tell a vision.
If I write, I could write, so good and well —
my finger type: printing stories on these pages,
_A dogs-ear_ bent down to listen, to serve the law
as it runs. how long the mile? A canine chasing
commands.
_A man afraid of the light_, finding comfort
in a shadow. shadowing the past, living
best when hidden in the shade of regrets.
our mistakes are perfect at throwing shade.
Shall I live the blemish of a dream —folded
onto itself, my best days creased like dog-ears,
marking important chapters of my life.
But a man so afraid of the light forgets there
are two kinds: the one that reveals his darkness,
and the one he’ll face at the end of his life.
Still — we must step out from the shadows
of our mistakes. Eventually, you find a time
to shine.
Aug 31, 2025
Aug 31, 2025 at 6:47 AM UTC