"frangibility" poems
lovely, these pages I sew
for sadness I know not to tamper with like a joke -
a sick joke that people find amusing.
I do not find that kind of joke, or you to be amusing.
I clasp my hands tightly together, interlocking knuckles
and sit very still while the company is antsy to inspect
me for any weakness.
(I am always assuming everyone is out to judge me so rashly)
I am straining my back and the very moment I slouch,
I will fall into the pit of self-irritability,
yelling at myself because my bones persist on frangibility.
God! am I ever good enough?!
(I am always judging myself so rashly)
I want to buy myself a cottage near a swamp, hoarding
the repugnant slime near my fireplace cozied up reading a book.
you may trespass; I am willing to share this (hell) with you
if you wish to get so close to me.
I do though, (at my best) suffice
lingering around buying myself something nice (you could put it)
when I'm aggravated, I tend not to listen
not even to my own advice.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 8:39 AM UTC
Yellow haired children play with summer day wishes
Residual beings in a reversal of their own dreams
Would that the diadems would majestically fall
Into the whirlwind of their fragmented journey
Frangibility abounds in these outstretched hands
Faces of a road-map somewhere back in time
No one to wrap them against the bitterness
Of what will befall them when the sun arises
Weary into the Grey night, they reflect alone
Homeless, mindless, soulless in body
Heads turn away from the orphans
Of yet another tralatitious circumstance
Jan 5, 2011
Jan 5, 2011 at 10:18 AM UTC
Why is it so difficult to maintain
And to keep maintaining
An equilibrium?
Why is it so impossible to be
A little of both,
A little of none?
Why is it so, so unthinkable to have
That stability
That acceptance
That sheer pleasure of
Not having to lose one in order to keep another?
Why can’t one be
A pivot?
Why must there be
A victor?
Why must an
Equal
Always become some sort of a
subordinate runner up
For you to prove your own worth?
Do you see competition
When you look at your own
Virtuality
In the honesty of a mirror?
Do you wonder whether the
Fragility of the glass
Prefers your face to that of your reflection?
And then,
With all that might
You pretend to have to the world,
Do you pound down on
That very same glassy frangibility
And
Break
It
For a supposition,
For an assumption
of inferiority
That the crystal did nothing
To prove, provoke or propel?
If not, then why are you
Shattering
Both, the glass and the reflection?
Why are you so eager
To run away from the exactness of your proximity
To the glass;
from the equality of your peer?
And why,
Why do the actions of the image
Bother you
When it actually does nothing but
replicate your own?
Why does the shattered glass
Create no shard of
The solidity of your soul
When its only sin was being
A pivot
Between you and your compeer.
Why.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 7:45 AM UTC