Don’t ask me why I was standing in the middle of my backyard that Friday evening in March unscrewing a bolt, but do know that I was standing in the middle of my backyard that Friday evening in the middle of March, and I was attempting to unscrew a bolt. The bolt belonged to the remains of a gazebo we had built last summer, a fairly nice, painted-aluminum thing with copper colorings and khaki drapes. It had been blown over in a wind-storm sometime over the winter and I had been dreading the day I would have to come outside and take it apart, piece by piece, and finally get rid of the wreckage of what had once been a beautiful center piece to our back yard.
The reason I had finally gotten around to taking it apart was that I was angry. This is also probably why I didn’t care that it was raining, or that the sun was setting in less than an hour, or that I would much rather be in my room sitting around and doing nothing. I enjoy physical labor more when I’m angry. If I can avoid any complications, I work briskly and feel better overall when I am done. Unfortunately, this was not one of the times I avoided complications.
The particular bolt I was working on seemed to know that I didn’t need something frustrating to deal with. It waited until it was the last one that needed unscrewing to suddenly become difficult. After ten minutes, I had gone at it with Phillip’s head screw drivers, flat heads, two different types of wrenches, and my own bare hands, but still it refused to budge. In between mad attempts to turn the stubborn piece of metal, I would make quick little circles away from it. Up the brick path I was working next to then back down it, alternately glaring at and shunning my nemesis as I went. Each circle was my way of letting out the excess frustration building with each failed attack on the bolt. But as my attacks become more frequent and my efforts seemingly more futile, I was beginning to lose control of emotions.
The whole situation felt menacing. The corpse of the gazebo wore a condescending smile, my tools giggled each time they failed, and the bolt said nothing, sitting smugly in its socket. I will defeat you, I thought, I will unscrew you and it will feel good to throw you into the woods and forget about you. But I knew that winning this battle would not mean I won the war. My mood was shot. While I set out to make myself feel better, I only ended up feeling worse in the long run. Regardless, this realization did not reduce my anger. I was determined to unscrew this fucker and that was all I could think about.
Taking hold of a wrench in one hand and a screw driver in the other, I twisted and jammed the two things for as long as I could. When the bolt didn’t come unbound, I grabbed one half of the structure I was trying to deconstruct and began to rip and tear it with all of my might. When it still wouldn’t budge, I loudly screamed “fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck”, and with one last burst of strength, lifted it above my head and used my other hand to smash the bolt until it was loose in the socket. This was when I finally was able to unscrew the bolt and its uneventful fall to the ground was somehow unsatisfying at the time.
Taking my newly freed hand, I grunted loudly and hurled the hunk of precision cut aluminum piping over to where another piece of the former gazebo lay. I sat breathing heavily, even if the moment lasted only a few seconds and required only a fraction of my strength. I realize now that I breathed so hard because this was an emotionally straining task. Man against machine. Unstoppable against the unmovable. And I had won, but not before I lost control. Lost myself deep into a fit of rage where I could hardly recognize myself. Anger, I realized long ago, is not my natural state. I get sick with it after even a short time. Those retched moments when rage takes over the entirety my mind are some of the worst in my life.
I’m still not sure why we humans have never found a better way to deal with anger. We have two options: To bottle it up or to let it out. And the former always eventually leads to the latter. In my life, I’ve managed to avoid anger all together. I stray from conflict, do not work with people I dislike, avoid restricting my ability to get out of any contract or dedication. But I can’t always hide from it, and I suppose that’s why I was standing in the middle of my backyard that Friday evening in March trying to unscrew a bolt that I was convinced was my very worst enemy. I was trying to untighten something much deeper, much darker, something I don’t think I, or most people, ever have the depth to deal with. It seemed the only way out was to fall back on the imperfect methods of my ancestors, and for the time being, I decided that was alright.
Zeus was the king of gods,
The god of sky and weather,
Law, order and fate.
A regal man,
O, how can I ever forget his passion for his Lightning Bolt,
No one dare touch?
the power of lightning.
the cackle of thunder.
the massive electrostatic discharge.
AWAKENS MY SENSES
For years I have longed..
For your beloved bolt
But when I accepted that it could not be mine
And shall stand faithfully by your side..
M Y W A N D E R I N G S ended..fullstop
Another bolt greeted me...
No intention had I of embracing a new love...
For your bolt has been sown to my heart..
The keys are lost in my crimson pool of despair..
No one shall ever find it.
You have ruined the recesses of my heart.
But, let me tell you something.
the key was unearthed.
found by true love.
brought a sparkle in my eyes
a glimmer in my sunshine
a power arose that beat *the daylight out of..
dark and daunting thoughts.
I beamed that 1000-watt smile once again.
Thank you Mr. Lighting Bolt of Hello Poetry
For when you turn yellow, the electrons in me sizzle..Feel the spark, Zeus?
Usain Bolt, like a thunder bolt,
Darted towards his final halt
With all his might combined
Pushing his opponents behind
Making the world wonder if Bolt - a colt
That Lightning Bolt is killing me.
It sits there in the top right corner right next to my home,
Staring at me while I write.
"Hey you... I see you're writing a poem.
"Do you think a lot of people will read it?"
What I have to say is,
"I hope so."
But then I chastise myself.
I don't write for them!
I write for me!
When i see that bolt turn on
I'm excited, afraid, and somewhat confused
Like i'm excited that first of all i got a like
that my poetry might've spoken to a soul out there
that you know i got a like...
i'm afraid of letting success go to my head...
i'm afraid of the torment that i am capable of
afraid of "dependation"
like idk its a personal thing.....
but i'm somewhat confused because i'm a pretty weird ass soul
....and i've never fully been content with myself like right now i love myself but i'm always wishing for better...
and there's a belief in my mind that everyone's out to get me
that i just don't belong anywhere
and i don't know if i'm ok with that....
it's so surprising when i find people who still talk to me
when i say something outta the norm, stupid, when i dress cray cray
but i guess those people are out there
...and i want to thank you for tolerating me
and accepting me
She must always be the center of attention
Loud as hell too, if I even need to mention
You know when she's around
She bellows like an old basset hound
When she's here she'll let you know
As picture after picture of herself she'll show
Always bragging on herself and her's
Like under your saddle a well placed bur
The same old stories over and over
She can talk anyone sober
I can only take her in a small dose
Not in walls that are close
In an open field, in case I need to bolt
Because I just can not cope
With the stream of shit
That spews from her lips
I'll run like a wild horse
It would be hard to follow my course
When I can't put up with her any longer
That attention seeking monger