"deficiencies" poems
Hey, past me from so close yet seeming long ago...
A knot from my sweater's bow I regret tying despite how unkempt the ribbons look hanging by my sides because now it's digging into my back
The hair I can't decide if I want out where it's pretty and makes me look less like a generic nerd yet gets in my face and food and life
The jeans I insist upon wearing without a belt even though their slipping down my **** may actually outweigh the pain of loosening the belt
The tennis shoes I'm too attached to give up that emit a constant squeak, squeak, squeaking through the hallways whether it's caused by residual rain from outside or not
The glasses, fond of slipping down my nose at frequent intervals, covered in smudges I rarely notice till they get out of hand
The phone whose screen happened to crack at the most inopportune moment and takes forever to read my finger print
The jacket that should be a highlighter blue but rather presents itself as a canvas of the week's tomato stains
The face covered in acne-
The stomach with fat instead of muscle-
The arms lacking muscle-
The legs with too much hair-
I've always acknowledged that perfection is not possible, yet I have to at least try to strive
I think, as I sit at my desk, fingers typing fragmented sentences, attempting to convey thoughts speeding too fast to grasp
Yet, just a simple poem of reflection brings to light these numerous deficiencies, many of which I COULD fix were it not the invisible fiend upon whom I stamp the label-laziness
These deficiencies, many of which aren't even noticed by those around me, some of whom are better some are worse
But it's not as simple as that, I've known I can't just be "one of the people", I need to find something, some identity, some way out of my seemingly impossible to escape label of "just above average"
In academics, in extracurricular activities, EVERYTHING, I seem to be at a stagnant
I've done bad, I've done "just above average", but never above. What is the point if you get plenty of losses and plenty of "fine" but no victories?
It's something about me though, somehow I believe, subconsciously, I'm impeding myself. I'm holding myself back.
...
Why?
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 3:50 PM UTC
Orange capsules of condensed vitamin C
Tumble out onto my cracked,
Outstretched palm,
As I arch my spine towards the bathroom sink,
Scooping lukewarm water from the faucet
Into my half closed mouth-
The tiny pills clog my upturned throat:
Just two of the numerous solutions
To a world too numb
To contest.
I've never felt more alive,
Than when I'm drowning my body
With handfuls of tap water
And magic remedies bottled up and
Marketed to a world
Afraid of growing old.
Lining the wall of local drug stores,
One isle over from office supplies
And scented laundry detergent.
Multicolored, multipurpose-
Labels proclaim the fountain of youth
To anyone alive enough to fear it.
There's never enough of reality
To reach our depleted veins
Through the ever present forms
Of the world. Enough isn't
Enough, until we've convoluted it into a tiny
Plastic oval, and forced it down the throats
Of those well enough to swallow it.
Pharmaceutical companies proclaim their
Daily gospel in the linoleum streets
Of hospital waiting rooms
And local grocery stores,
As I cross my heart and count the
Hours until my next prescribed dose
Of complacency. Who knew happiness
Could have the bitter after taste of
Vitamin B or
The credibility of Zoloft.
The sandman has been replaced by Benadryl,
While creativity lies stagnant
Beneath adderall's indifferent thumb.
Obsession is a 26 letter alphabet,
Strung together by a bunch of deficiencies,
Incoherently droning on
To the burden of Man,
And flickering neon light
Of a drive-thru pharmacy.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 1:41 AM UTC
I hate it when people think suffering is wrong. Learn to pick up your **** suffering, and bear it! Try to be a good person so you don't make it worse! I know you have a lot of reasons to be resentful about school, heck, even your existence! We know it's going to involve a lot of pain, and lots of it is going to be unfair! But acting out everything you're complaining about will only make things infinitely worse, try it. That's why we have the saying that hell is a bottomless pit, because some stupid son of a ***** could figure out a way to make it a lot worse. Learn to accept it! This is what the real world looks like, full of suffering. What can you do about it? Try reducing it! Start with yourself! Get your **** together solidly so that people can rely on you! Square up with what's wrong with you, you know it if you'll admit it. You know that there are a few things you can polish up a bit, deal with it and maybe you can start managing your present insufficient condition. Don't be a **** victim. Shine yourself up a bit so your eyes will be a little bit more open, shine it some more and maybe you might be able to bring your family together instead of having to be that spiteful, neurotic room mate that you're doomed to spend the whole semester with. Be humble about your deficiencies. Figure out how you can make peace with your siblings. You'll get there somehow, and when your life starts functioning you'll find out, "Well, that kind of relieved a little bit of suffering," at least that reduced the opportunities for spiteful revenge. When you little by little start to get your **** together, you'll get acquainted with it because you're doing something difficult. You're wiser, so maybe you could point out a tentative finger out there beyond your family and try to change some little thing without wrecking it. We students are so conditioned to think that we can just fix anything, even something as complex as our society. Well, try to fix a military helicopter and see how far you get with it. You can't just whack it with a wrench and be like "Oh look, it's better!" NO! Life is complicated and to fix things are hard! We overcome suffering by being a better person, that's how you do it! It's hard because it takes responsibility. If you want a meaningful life everything you do matters! Unless you don't want meaning and not take responsibility, because who the **** cares? You can wander through life doing whatever your want! Gratifying your short term impulses for who knows how short it's going to be. Ask yourself if you want to get stuck in meaninglessness, but no responsibility. You'd quickly realize how the majority of your being are pursuing meaningless things. Because the fact is, pursuing meaningful things means taking on suffering. You have to put yourself together in the face of that, and that's hard! When you really get to the bottom of things, you'll realize that you need to make the choice to put yourself together. Transcend your suffering and see if you can be some kind of hero. Be that person who'll make the suffering in the world less. That's the way forward.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 12:37 PM UTC
*We share our deficiencies:
A haven of sorrow and fury*
Friendly - they say hello
In mischief and spite.
Warm or cool under your feet
They swerve near nonchalant districts
And foamy lips
Destructive - they leave without saying goodbye
A routine they developed
Over the series of washed up regrets
And maroon sediments
Attached - they stick like superglue
To the pang they forgot to tell you about
They leave and take a part with them
And inevitably imprint themselves onto you
*We share our deficiencies:
A haven of sorrow and fury*
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
Rarely had my vision been focused in the past
and maybe for this reason the passage of time
felt as if it was little more than a forgotten dream.
I often found my eyes on an icy reflection
of a naked man standing before a fogged mirror,
fresh with the haze of a hot shower.
I would gaze upon him and he back into me,
pondering to myself "who are you stranger?"
I could only assume he thought the same of me.
I would wonder when he walked away
from that tooth paste stained portrait
if he ventured into the world with that familiar vigor,
that naive sensibility to battle
the demons,
the contradictors
and the liars.
If he too would laugh at these same fallacies in himself
with a certain kind of madness that could only touch
the ears of the few free men among us.
Those tragic spirits who dared to dance,
to transcend ancient genetics and modern culture
in hopes of touching a god they had long forsaken.
We may have given it a different name
but we were no better then the theologians before us,
we clung to our most primal desire.
It weighed upon us with such force
that hunger,
thirst
or even lust
felt like a pestering annoyance in the shadow of its glory.
Our appetite for connection far surpassed our need
to facilitate our biological deficiencies
and in those moments of understanding we reveled in the irony
of being minds trapped in fleshy bodies.
A smile crept across my face and one grew upon him.
I knew this man who stand before me,
unafraid,
bare in body
with a dastardly grin.
He was my oldest friend,
the ghost who spoke to me
in my most vulnerable moments
when no others did.
He cried for me when I could not,
would not cry for myself.
He had always been there
for me and for the first time
when I turned away from his reflection
I felt him follow too.
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 2:35 AM UTC
A journo aware, equally at home in Palaces, Halls or the streets
Trained to vision duplicity slants and angles and know the crux
Able to see the story behind the story behind the story and more
In ethics robed proudly while mendacity and shenanigans cry shy
Show me the Dai Lama in a crack den or Bill Gates ******* in Goa
Semi demi illiterates with joined-up thinking or unthinking
Immatures lacking emotional intelligence or gainful statures
In groupthink mired settles on group delusions in vicissitudes
We're programming or flooding seeds of doubts or confusing
As if maladroit fantasies are gospels not simpletons' chicanery
Dismissives sad dolts duly outflanked and outclassed inherently
Ignoramuses crude and coarse in true form lacking introspection
Wear disgrace proudly in persistence and parade idiocy fittingly
Strength in numbers neither nullifying stupidity or indignities
Indulgent cowards and sick gate-keeps of unearned entitlements
Nonentities, rabble rousers shamed vigilantes in emotional dearth
Claiming and luxuriating in the depravities of their deficiencies
I remain what I am and no apologies necessary for august status
Your diminutive deeds merely reflects your statures and intellects
Little minds already condemn you to suicides of real aspirations
CopyrightLaurenceA6thNov2018.allrightsreserved
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 3:10 PM UTC
I wrote a message
carelessly to you,
filling your deficiencies
with notices,
"the power will be shut off."
Maybe a powerless life
has more fire
more matches.
Maybe a powerless life
goes to bed
with the sun
wrapped up in heat
sleeping soundly with solar flares
nestled into places unknown.
Maybe a powerless life
writes more letters,
watches the birds,
and can see me sitting there,
an apparition now uncovered.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 12:27 PM UTC
Is not only ordinary in the most vile sense
It also lacks the creative imbalance
That which pulses through the blood of cryptic elders
Although being encaged in a box
has the comfort of rigidity
It destroys the fetus of all that pretends to be beautiful
Contemptuous moments ruined
Because we are weak enough to ask, why?
To pander For a something as feebly human as a definition
Why must everything be placed
on the hand of the glockenspiel
When the world has clearly indicated
The presence of a divine anomaly
The trees are freezing
into crocked chapels
The blackened oasis
tearing slightly along the buttons
Through this all the celestial ambiance awaits
Its complexities weave
each stroke unparalleled
r
The urge is to destroy
That which makes our eyes sting
And our brains blast through the unseen hallows
Riding the coattails of a blastiod
This gusto is blanketed over in our simple minds
Forged into a hammer and sickle
Of absolute and definite terror
Destroy it all
All of which can chemically mix and produce
A new mystical pattern of deficiencies
Naked spayed on the cutting room floor
We must destroy it
By forcefully coding its gnome
Correcting what appears to be a hint of insurrection
When we already no the what already know the why
but the current answers will make us their slave
They will bind us in hopeless ecstasy
So we form new words that don’t do it justice
Outlandish plans for this invention
Destroying its capability to be
simple
beautiful and
without purpose
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 9:01 AM UTC
I remember sitting
On the tiny porch
Of my dad’s home
Offended by the sun
That continued to sink and set
Without pausing to acknowledge
My dad’s passing.
Offended by the cars
That continued on the highway;
Callous indifference, it seemed to me.
Even the birds at their feeder
Greedily fed and failed to look up
To mark the loss of their benefactor.
I found myself
Silently demanding condolences
In every encounter.
Not for the sympathy,
Or worse, pity,
But for the acknowledgement
That he was here
And now he’s gone,
And something,
However infinitesimally small
In the scopeless universe,
Has changed.
I have two cousins.
The first called my dad
Every month.
His regular call came
During the last days.
The decline surprised him.
He took a deep breath
And asked for speakerphone
Near my dad.
He told my dad
How much my dad had
Influenced his life;
How as a child,
he anticipated a visit from my dad
Like kids stay up to see Santa;
How my dad made my cousin feel
Like he was the most important kid
In the wide world;
How my dad gave my cousin
The otherwise unavailable
Sustenance of heart
Young boys need;
How my cousin had strived to be
Like my dad
And how he hoped
His own children see in him
What he saw in my dad.
That was acknowledgement,
Profound acknowledgement.
My second cousin called
Shortly after the first.
He had heard
That my dad was dying.
He did not ask
To speak with my dad.
He wanted to tell me
To call him
As soon as memorial
Arrangements were made
So that he could purchase
Discounted airline tickets,
To include a subsequent visit
To his son who lives
In the southern part of the state.
My dad was still living.
That, too, acknowledged something,
And served to impel my pending decision.
So I opted for
A less conventional
Memorial ritual
That required neither
Plane tickets nor attendance
Nor a frozen smile reception.
I would not suffer
Insincere acknowledgement.
I am sure I scandalized
Many acquaintances of my dad
Who enjoyed the social conventions of
The anticipated gathering
If only to point out the deficiencies
Of the event and the host.
I am sure I offended
And frustrated
And embittered
One of my cousins.
The other cousin thought
My dad would have preferred
Sincerity
Over a pantomime.
I would suffer
The disfavor and distaste
Of the discontented
With no difficulty.
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 9:59 PM UTC
-Undiagnosed-
Pray, don’t pity me,
For I do take blame
That I pity myself
And thus suffer this pain,
And please don’t mock
For there are greater ills
And more the deaths,
My suffering is nil.
Then perhaps
You’d maim my diet,
The lack of sun and
Poor exercise.
I need not even ask
How I’d improve my life,
When the bones sap my vigor
and seem to swell overnight.
And how could I ever try to say
That I see darkness when I go my way,
Pins and needles as I stand,
When the fault is mine anyway?
I shouldn’t even start to think
How my head throbs and pounds all night,
It’s surely because I don’t wake up with the sun.
But how do I wake when I don’t close my eyes?
Now, could it possibly be
You decided that I don’t rest,
That all this pain causes fatigue,
That sleep, you think, is for the best?
Consider when after hours and hours
My body finally dreams in defeat,
Would anyone care to do my work
If I shirk it off to get more sleep?
If the animals end up ill fed,
And the duties are not supervised,
With what peace do I lie in bed,
When it could be done better otherwise?
And so here I do write at six,
With my jaw stiff and eyes bright,
The wires of pain gently shift
Every time I move my hand to write.
What could I wake anyone for,
When painkillers don’t **** enough?
Just to say I cannot sleep?
I’d hear ‘wake up then, be tough’.
So do not again
Bid me to be strong,
Unless you tell the blind to see.
Well dear sir,
There’s no argument for that,
Except, please let me be.
What indeed could you try to cure
When I’m just deficiencies,
Of wit and courage, also strength,
Calcium may be imaginary.
But truly, I do agree,
With the opinion you selflessly endure.
For evidently
Nothing’s wrong with me,
And the pain one must learn to ignore.
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 11:44 AM UTC
I believe too much in my own Insignificance.
I spend too much time drowning out my own voice with alcohol.
I procrastinate on my own responsibilities.
I smoke too many cigarettes just to have something that passes the time between gulps.
I live too long in my memories.
I superimpose too much of what I thought I wanted onto what I have now.
I believe I am failing at everything I do yet act like I do everything better than them.
I live in a cluttered mess.
I pretend no one notices my obvious deficiencies.
I do things to get attention by hiding in plain sight.
I have real voices in my head.
I talk to myself, actually more like I scream at myself often.
I use other people's names as an escape word.
I secretly believe I am more important than I care to admit.
I foolishly think I deserve more.
I ignore my health.
I fantasize about things I would never want to actually participate in.
I still imagine I can be loved.
I sometimes believe women want me even when they already have someone.
I expect there will be magical occurrence in my life that will make me happy.
I enjoy causing myself physical pain if some aspect of it supposedly makes me stronger.
I long to have my life sacrificed if it means someone I love will survive longer.
I am jealous of my closest friends for being farther along in life and am obvious about it.
I spiral myself down to diminish the fear of falling.
I hate what I see in the mirror.
I believe I am destined for failure based on my genetics.
I drive too fast.
I often believe my way is the better way, until proven otherwise.
I torture myself constantly, in my head.
I ignore anything that I feel I don't know enough about to solve.
I find comfort in imagining being smashed into an unrecognizable blob of human remains.
This is the only existence I know. This is my normal.
Summer2012
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 8:17 AM UTC
Risen sensibility when it came to living life
Wiry tendencies to fall before a savior appears in the split second of your head coinciding with the concrete to catch you
You live too fast, you cannot die
A case of immortality floating through the blue and black veins pumping blood to your weary heart
Turbulent tremors beat the pallor right out of your personality
Trying to turn back time and see who's fault lies within the deficiencies of your relationship
Could it have been the haughty reactions to every novel he wept at?
Though inside he was deeply troubled by death and it's casualties in his life?
Could it have been the musk that owned his scent, one you used to crave but now repulsed?
Pine needles spiked within your perfume drove him off the cliff
And mood-congruent memory proves it's theories
You are gravely broken inside your chest
All you feel is anger for the boy that clipped the wings off of the butterflies that carried you
And replaced them with ****** tears sewn together with cheating and dishonesty
Irritable noises clamor inside your ears
Reverberating throughout your whole body
Shaking, like an earthquake, involuntary
Clangorous echoing of negativity is constant
Unshakable, ineffable, suffocating
Your disheartened recollections resonating with your adverse quality of letting go
Could it be, a silly girl like you fell for a manic depressive like him?
Or did the silly boy fall for the manic depressive girl?
Mood-congruent memory, flowing back in streams of discontent and remorse
Ambiguous reasonings and faulty evidence collide with your incoming tears
He was not, the problem
(You were)
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC
i found a birthmark shaped like Alaska
on the inside of your kneecap,
and i only saw it the day you
let me cross the border;
it was sensitive to my touch,
the moon-like ripples leading
to the needles on the pine tree
in your back yard.
sometimes i can read behind the
lines of DNA makeup,
like the lonely biologist you seem to be,
but your lingo is foreign to me,
tattered words and language deficiencies,
i can hardly follow along the braille
carved onto your outer layer,
the marble you worked so hard to
weather on your own time.
yet, somehow its turned to rubble again.
sometimes i hold an out of order sign
against my breastbone so i can set eyes
straight and wish anyone would light me on
fire,
(but not literally, i'm absolutely against abuse)
i want the sticks but not the stones,
since wood won't leave my body bruised.
use my transitions for kindle,
and my organs for the flames.
i want to be colored red,
like ambulance lights, stop signs,
painted like a signature to warn others
how my frequencies can only be heard
by animals.
maybe some other life forms,
or god,
but i have never hoped more that
you would pick up on my signals,
my freckles scream out samples
of how this could be
or what we could have known.
May 25, 2011
May 25, 2011 at 12:00 PM UTC
By following the light,
You will break yourself.
You will be punched and pushed,
And stretched to lengths
you never thought you could venture.
But you will survive.
The light saves you from that decaying part of you that would be your demise.
It heals you and makes you whole.
By destroying you,
and putting you back together.
***Tighter.
Stronger.***
--
*A new day,
A new person.*
You rise from the fire;
The flames lick your skin.
They feel warm,
And you feel rejuvenated.
You are reborn from fire, from the light,
And light you become.
--
The darkness is repelled by your presence;
You have broken free of your deficiencies.
By conquering your demons,
You have proved yourself above the dark.
The blackness is trapped beneath your feet,
It can never control you again...
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 2:23 AM UTC
There is a fair bit of you in every garden of my life.
Truly, that is nothing extraordinary, you should know it as objectively as I do.
Nevertheless, there is something I’d like to clarify:
When I say "in every garden”,
it is not only in relation to this of now,
this of waiting for you, of hoorah! i found you!, and ****** i lost you!,
and found again, and hopefully stops there.
Nor in regard of you suddenly telling me "I’m going to cry”,
then with a discrete lump in my throat "well go ahead”.
And then a graceful invisible rainfall arrives to assist us,
perhaps the reason the sun rises unhesitatingly right after.
I’m not just referring either
at the day-to-day fluctuation of the stock in our little decisive complicities,
or that I could or believe I can turn my deficiencies to victories,
or of you to bestow upon me the tenderest gift of your most recent despair.
No.
The situation is more serious.
When I state “in every garden” I mean to say that in addition to that sweet cataclysm,
you are also rewriting my childhood,
that age when one utters "grown up” and solemn phrases,
and the solemn grown ups celebrates them,
and conversely, you think of it irrelevant.
What I mean to say is,
you are reassembling my adolescence,
that time when I was an old man full of insecurities,
and contrarily, you know how to extract from there,
my germ of joy and consciously spread it.
What I mean to say is,
you are stirring my youth,
that vain vessel no one took hold of, that proud shade no one got close to,
and you on the other hand knows very well how to shake it
until the autumn leaves start falling
till there is nothing but the flesh of my triumphless truth.
What I mean to say is,
you are grasping my maturity,
that mixture of stupor and experience,
this unknown horizon of fear and certainty,
this relentless faith on my questionable strength.
As you can see, it is serious,
extremely more serious.
Because with these or different words,
I mean to say you are not only,
the dearest girl you are,
but also the splendid and cautious* women that I love and have loved.
Because thanks to you E, I have understood,
(you’d say it was about time, and with reason),
that love, is a beautiful and generous bay, that lightens and darkens as life goes by,
a bay where ships arrive and break away,
they arrive with blossoms and presages,
and they part with krakens and storm clouds.
A beautiful and generous bay where ships set down and then leave,
But E, you, please don’t leave.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 2:14 AM UTC
0418
Sometimes, I see your heavy burdens
In your arms, you carry every debris of anticipation
Your anxieties about the world
Your disappointments and failures
And apologies never received with forgiveness.
Sometimes, I see your hunger and thirst
That leads you to compare with others
Why do you lack and feel all deficiencies
And all over your face, there are tiny and big regrets
That you hoped you did your best.
Sometimes, you act in a childish way
Your words say you’re okay and you are able
But in your deepest core, I hear you shouting in tears
For all those times, you thought that I don’t even care.
Sometimes, your strength is not enough
You wear masks and declare you’re good enough
But your muscles are about to collapse
With the lapses and faults, you thought
You could easily endure.
I was there all the time —
Even the moments you’re not still
You stand too tall that you never looked back.
I was there —
When you soar so high and you made a call to others
And then you ask for comfort
But in them, you received persecution and judgment.
One night, you felt so exhausted
And you never knew that I was there
As I caught you sleeping at the table
And so I carried you in My arms
And you murmured in tears
As I showed up in your dreams.
You felt so close to me that day
And there, you have received the rest
As you acknowledge me and choose to listen to Me.
And finally, I heard from you
The most wonderful word,
“Father,” you were in tears
“It was different this time,”
You added and even declared,
“You are my confidence.”
Never will I fail you even in your loss
Never will my love grows an inch away from you
Though you run miles away
I will see you through
You will make it.
And I will be your strength
I will do it
So rest and lean on me
Rest in my finished work —
It is finished.
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 11:56 PM UTC
Conversation inhibited,
Yet also free of constraint,
Small talk a challenge,
In depth conversation my forte
And interrogation my ally
Bombarding others with quick fire questions,
‘You’re too deep’ it has been said more than once
As I reveal too much once again.
Misunderstanding social cues,
Eye contact a no no,
****** expressions a blur,
Tone of voice a trigger,
Hence emotions a minefield.
Literal listening,
Literal speaking,
Leading to sense of humour bypass,
Don’t waste your innuendos, irony and sarcasm on me,
Direct speaking is what wins the day.
Overwhelming sensory overload,
Confusion,
Misunderstanding,
Mishearing,
Tendency towards negativity,
Introversion,
A war of words
Inside my head
Pouring out my mouth,
Tearing me apart
And those whom I love.
Now working hard to change the script,
To be aware of the impact of deficiencies, defensiveness and quirkiness,
To remain level headed and mindful
As I alternate between tiptoeing and running roughshod
Through the labyrinth of life.
Dec 29, 2021
Dec 29, 2021 at 9:09 PM UTC
What are friends for..
Let's hangout
Having fun
leaving the outside world figure itself out
Try and fit in
Be the opposite of yourself
You're loved for who you're not
And hated for your great mutations
Filled with void of perfect hypocrisy
Would you keep me in your memory?
I'll shelter you and be your apology
You still didn't call
Probably busy sitting on a chair
But I understand..
I was killed by my kindness
And my pride got buried
Called me your *****
In front of your friends
And yes I was..
Fulfilling your deficiencies
But doesn't end well
I took your life
Cause mine never existed
It was always kept in a shell
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
we have found each other
across thousands of miles
across different cultures and traditions
we have found each other
among seven billion plus people
on this globe
finding each other
was the easiest part
strangers in the night
staying together
has been truly challenging
at times
idiosyncracies
failures deficiencies fears
hopes wishes dreams
illusions and taboos
pieces of history from previous lives
keep popping up at crucial moments
in often Freudian transfigurations
innocuous words
may trigger convoluted memories
freighten new contexts
with old pain and sorrow
a gesture
a tone of speech
a situation
suddenly turn into déjà vu
twisting their present freshness
beyond belief
into habitual frames of order
the prisons of our pasts
do not offer easy escapes
yet we have found each other
among the billions on this globe
there is no other but the each
to build a life together
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
The Unbearable Winter’s mist
The winter’s mist,
peculiar,
the sky augurs
blue and sun mellow,
but clouded vision
begets and besets,
my own and owned
melancholy vision is
a consequential
snake like blurry speckled band,
of my own drawing,
covering my eyes,
when I read Márai‘s
wit, write, legal writ,
but with my corrected
add
of the
un
and my own self assigned
grade is a bright red
F
eye of the beholder
Life becomes unbearable
*”when one has come to
terms with who one is,
both in one's own eyes
and in the eyes of the world.
We all of us must come to terms
with what and who we are, and
recognize that this wisdom is not
going to earn us any praise, that
life is not going to pin a medal on
us for recognizing and enduring
our own vanity or egoism or
baldness or our potbelly. No, the
secret is that there's no reward
and we have to endure our characters
and our natures as best we can, because
no amount of experience or insight is
going to rectify our deficiencies, our
self-regard, or our cupidity. We have
to learn that our desires do not find
any real echo in the world. We have
to accept that the people we love
do not love us, or not in the way
we hope. We have to accept betrayal
and disloyalty, and, hardest of all,
that someone is finer
than we are in
character or intelligence.”*
Sándor Márai
Jan 10, 2024
Jan 10, 2024 at 2:36 PM UTC
My doctor wanted to give me the results of a blood test so asked me to come down
As I sat there listening to him meandering on about cholesterol, blood pressure, vitamin deficiencies
I got fed up and cut in on him suddenly
"Look Doc don't sugarcoat it, how long have I got ?"
He said "What do you mean, you're still in pretty good shape, you have a few things you gotta watch...
Again I cut in on him "I appreciate you're trying to break it to me easy Doc
But y'know I don't mind, as long as I...as long as I just get some nice big fancy disease with a big fancy name on it
Not one of those ould common garden type diseases that everyone gets
Something that'd make them all jealous envious
They'd all be looking at their own boring little diseases saying
"I wish I had a disease like his, with a big fancy name on it
Not this ordinary little disease that I've got
They'd be all looking over thinking
He must be a very special type of guy to have gotten such a big fancy disease like that...
The ****** of a doctor, he went and charged me 60 Euros
Now... now that hurt.
Apr 27, 2025
Apr 27, 2025 at 11:03 AM UTC
"Oh, I thought you had some kind of throat disease"
Remarks directed toward the inch wide puddle,
of brown, runny spits next to my boot.
No, no, not exactly.
Sand-pit puts them out quite nicely.
Don't have to rub the leaves out of the ****
because that's an "ordeal."
Auburn hair, almost quite naturally, has influenced me a great deal.
The meals eaten, and passed through, disgust me.
She reminds me that I am human.
"Acid reflex?" Another gal, knowledgeably inquires.
"My sister has it."
Your sister, well her and I could be great friends, then.
Deficiencies ****** me.
Coffee spits, at 11:30 a.m., by the white-washed concrete fortress;
my new back porch.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
"maybe i should back the **** up,"
and stop picking out deficiencies,
voyeuristic of all
the idiosyncrasies that make
a person with the way
their shoulders sway,
how their hips align over
independent mouths
in an anti-communication when
yes means no in deadened sensation,
arms taut and wrists raw,
when breaths draw out
a cry, mind awry
but without a doubt ignored.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 5:15 AM UTC
my palate favors
particular concoctions
over too many pots
and helpings spurned
I don’t need
to taste everything
imported from China
suped-up HFCS and MSG
the first bites are yum
across hungry tongue
but the rest are all meh
instigating regretful churns
and nutrient deficiencies
I just want that
raw, organic, GMO-free
concentrated, satiating
perfected recipe
crafted expertly
on my tongue
daily
x3
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 6:50 PM UTC
Whatever comes over
as desire, only briefly
sticks to my experience
how relative it is
I can live, I am free
from deficiencies, I do not suffer
from pain, passion or troubles
not from the chaos of love
or ambition, I don't wait to see
what I get thrown
I am too good for that
my friends tell me too
I follow my interests
and that's not the way
of motherhood
and high expectations
but that of the beauty
of you name it
in which I am silently absorbed
One thought
without thinking
of anything else
Aug 8, 2019
Aug 8, 2019 at 3:59 AM UTC