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Matterhorn Feb 2019
Walking into the building:
Cold parking lot,
****** music blaring from that lifted truck,
People honking;

Glass doors,
Short, insufficient eye contact,
"Good morning!" from the lady who guards the door
With a laptop and a forced smile;

Quick strides,
A pinball-like dance,
Yelling, screaming, arguing, sometimes fighting,
Fake greetings and meaningful silences;

A tiny bubble of social-media-manufactured society,
Without the trials and tribulations
That make one human
Or the experience that makes one sensible;

I can't ******* wait to graduate.
© Ethan M. Pfahning 2019
Matterhorn Feb 2019
I wonder,
Do you hold others
To the same exacting standard
As your razor-sharp bangs?
Is that why I've never
Heard your voice?
Why I've never seen your mouth
Form any other expression than that
Pretty, perfect grimace?
"You have beautiful eyes,"
I want to say;
But they remain downcast,
Accentuating your general
Aura of discomfort.
© Ethan M. Pfahning 2019
Matterhorn Feb 2019
There are plenty of fish in the sea;
I should know,
I'm SCUBA certified.

And yet,
It feels as though the reefs
That I frequent
Have stagnated,
Colors weakening.

Perhaps I spend too much time
In the shallows,
Where every kick
Throws up silt,
Stifling the corals and choking the fish.

Fading beauty or
Compromised visibility;
Who's to say
Which plays the bigger part
In my dissatisfaction?

Who knows?
Maybe I just need to switch
To hiking.
© Ethan M. Pfahning
Matterhorn Jan 2019
As I do every day,
I sit in my silver Altima;
Joss Stone serenades
My damaged soul,
Lifting my spirits as I turn the volume
Up and up,
Drowning out the jeering throng of my peers
And my heart's own anguished cries.
© Ethan M. Pfahning 2019
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