you were brilliant
but it came with a cost

for every 5
lines
i was given
1 insult

you were really good
at the art of
sandwiching
two compliments
in between one insult,

you lathered the treatment
so earnestly
as you whimsically would touch my hair
and bow down to my
choice of shoes
only to, on the way up
snidely remark
about the one hair i had
forgotten to shave on my leg

it is a price you pay
he said as he looked into my eyes
i will give you the highs
but also carry to you the lows

for i am the rollercoaster
you have willingly paid admission for.

i once heard a comedian
bemoan his career
i need to get up and do the thing
i need to get onstage and make the folks laugh,

for i am the gatekeeper to another world,
and when i open the great gilded doors,
for you to walk through
you will have entered a place
of make believe
and candy
sugarcoated walls,
and flowing rivers of chocolate

your pain will have subsided
your worries
if i have done my job right
will have melted onto the floor

remember those bills?
i dont either!
they have vanished into
my topcoat
your woes are all with me now

and i am prepared
to carry your weight
when i arise  
in the morning

i know a heavy transaction
will occur
this exchange
a laugh for your burden.

i am not just a comedian
i am a burden collector.

i know there is a good poem in me
i can feel her
she's underneath a stack of  
recipes and US weekly articles
underneath the lined shelves of
unopened emails and spam,
buried deep deep
under the information
stored on my various tabs,
and daily stress and responsibility
she is there
dancing with the pelicans over a crystalline bay
singing the song of a siren
her hands gliding over the wind
i know she's there
that saucy minx
come out and play with me already.

i had a poem once tell me:
shut up and get to work.
take the string of electricity
just sent to you from the heavens
and weave me onto your paper
this line will only be available
for a short period of time
until we get annoyed with your
unwillingness to devote yourself,
and like the last girl who was also idly
staring into the blank abyss of her walls
we will reclaim our line and
shoot it on over to the grandmother next door
who sits ever so patiently with her tea
and a first edition copy of that new stephen king novel
she has been meaning to dive into.
her pen situated between her index and *******
and i reckon in that moment
i will finally be birthed
in the margins,
in between the paragraphs
speaking of white robes and blood.

i looked in the mirror
and i saw a desert
there was a blank desolate
canvas of space
waiting to be filled
waiting to be acknowledged
or called out
i have no choice but to examine
every grain of sand
that makes me
who i am

i wake up in the morning,
and with the peaking
of the sun and her luminous rays,
a word trickles in through my window
reminding me of
cat hair and soft trips to the beach
allowing some electricity
to enliven me up,
or maybe it was
brisque feline making her way next to my pillow
that awoke me,
and just so
the day begins
with a
perfect
blend
of dreams and reality.

i felt the arrows of feeling
pointed towards me
anger's blade was sharpened by the sun
as it soared over to greet my skin
and my state of contentment
had been washed over
with a dormant state of resentment
because attached to that arrow,
buried deep in the vein of its *****,
was a biting memory of your skin
moving against mine
and then the
bitter pang of its quick and permanent
exit from the chapters of my life.