What would truly be
poetry
for me
is if I could write as fast as my mind thinks.

~kb

Resentments can ****,
renting their space
in a head full of anger,
a desperate place.
They attack all cognition
and leave you left with impulse
at those who leave you
disgusted and repulsed.
But the only beat down
to your death is done by you.
Only you hold fatal anger,
they haven’t got a clue.

~kb

I’m having a difficult time here, you see,
my mind keeps bartering my reality
for a few hits of bliss and impulsive bruises
and a subsequent list of bad excuses
I’ve been here before it’s what diseases do
But I know the cure and who to talk to

I dial my friend with vibrating fingers
A sweet soft hello gently lingers
My voice box has shut off there’s no remote
Streams of tears down to my throat
“What’s wrong honey are you okay?”
No I say in an angry way
I’ve ******* up again and can’t get it back
This life is just one vicious attack
I don’t know where to go or what to do
She softly laughs, “Yes you do.”
“You’ve felt this despair before
But I have to laugh at what you look for
You have conquered this demon in the past
Stop ******* about it and get off your ***
Start doing the things that bring integrity
Start going to places you used to find peace
But stop blaming your disease
Just beacuse it brings you more ease
And please start letting
Something spiritual in
Let go of false control and gain some new
Enlightenment.”

I hung up the phone nothing to say
Tomorrow will be the newest of days.

~kb

Seek your approval but
looking at it all wrong traveling
to the wrong places
end up in tight spaces
claustrophobic and regretting
once again the choice I made to
let you invade
any part of me
because now I see that what I seek
was never in you and was always in me.

~kb

I’m numbed out by all the meds.
My creativity’s in shreds
It feels as though I’ve lost part of me.
Sure it was bad, but now I can’t see
the imagery that comes into view
when darkness comes passing through.
But people get a different cue
that this time I won’t make it through.
So they drug me up and leave me be,
a catatonic version of me.
I’m sick of playing a pill popping puppet.
I’d rather be sick to my stomach,
purge your pills until darkness returns.
Free of your drugs creativity burns.
This darkness is where I’m meant to be.
You can be concerned, but know I am free.

~kb

The vibration of the cello’s chest
Has my breathing skipping vital breaths
Imagining notes jumping lines
Rhyming fingers keeping time
Bow slides slick like it never touches strings
As I listen nothing seems to be touching me
Except the stale scales brought to life
Bars cut with precision by the composer’s knife
Cut fingers press out the staff’s life
Play so hard the horse hair breaks
Emotional forte it’s all I can take
As I set down the bow
Eyes still closed
The breath still seems to be taken from me
And I never want this music to leave

~kb

I lie awake again in bed
The same worries fill my head
That kept me up the night before
Any problem I’ll look for
They’ll pop in my head drives me insane
Keep pressing the light switch
To try to shut off my brain
The strobe light attempt
Tells my brain it’s exempt
From having to overthink or worry
Just let my head go blank and blurry
Let me sleep just one night
Let me gain some strength to fight

~kb