971

Robbed by Death—but that was easy—
To the failing Eye
I could hold the latest Glowing—
Robbed by Liberty

For Her Jugular Defences—
This, too, I endured—
Hint of Glory—it afforded—
For the Brave Beloved—

Fraud of Distance—Fraud of Danger,
Fraud of Death—to bear—
It is Bounty—to Suspense’s
Vague Calamity—

Stalking our entire Possession
On a Hair’s result—
Then—seesawing—coolly—on it—
Trying if it split—

you constantly manipulate the game-you toss and turn and hit the ball in all crooked ways, you scream crazy **** and pierce my soul and degrade me to levels not even six feet under could reach.
i seem to let it slide like a baby on ice because believe it or not, the louder my voice, the quieter my soul. I hate the confrontation and i dont see the point of stirring the ***.
i let you run train tracks over my face and flatten my self esteem so quickly but i cant seem to cut you off for good like an umbilical cord to a newborn.

i say one thing to you, because after all, you are always so big about being up front and in your face, you ask us why we dont talk our problems out and let our pandoras box open.
well. we did
we didnt agree-and then you become a power outage shutdown so quick and at this point, im more like pepco instead of BGE-im not quick to turn you back on.
I dont look through the same lens as you, and yes i might not see the bright side-im no sunny side eggs but hey, you are no sunflower either.

i dont understand your doubles. dont touch me and not expect to be touched.
we are friends sure but at this point im not sure if we are seesawing on a not wanting to crack the egg or if we are friends at all.
you are now shut down and at this point im like pepco-not sure when i will try to turn you back on, you bop me around like an abusive parent on drugs-you are so sure that you are right.
im hardly ever right, and i own it but you, im not sure
i cant let you use your pass about your past to get out of jail no for we all, victims and criminals have to own our past. use it to walk forward not run backwards down a hill

i know i know, im a *****, a stuck up ***** with alot to say and yes-i throw the memory of a 19 year old guy performing a ***** on me at only 5 but to be honest thats no excuse either.
we all have hot pots that are quickly dropped because of the complexity of our journeys but its no excuse to shut down. and now writing this more and more, im figuring out that this is not just a letter to you but a letter to myself. you gotta own your advice before dispersing it.
if you need a break, have a break
everyone needs a kitkat bar sometimes
i totally understand

Traveling by plane, across the main,
Sitting in coach, waiting for peanuts,
I was thinking about layovers.

Drifting to sleep, on that square of a pillow,
Knees to my chest and arms folded tight,
Dreaming of home, but stuck on this flight.

Turbulence seesawing our plane up and down,
Waking me abruptly, my vision still blurred,
I glance out the window, over the wing.

Mother of god, it's a duck of all things,
Staring at me like a new zoo exhibit,
Quacking at me, to say what an idiot.

Stuck in a can, hurtling across the sky,
At the mercy of gravity, because I can't fly.
This duck makes a point as he leaps in the air.
Spreading his wings, gone without a care.

You holding the pan, hands shaking, pan seesawing
Me feeling doom growing in the air like electricity building
You crumbling
Me swallowing danger
Them coming through the door, a bed on wheels
Me thinking that was funny
Him in the background, acting uninvolved
Me standing on the couch, forbidden
You lying on the funny bed
Me wondering if they would laugh at your clown slippers
You…I can’t see your face
Me looking at him
Him sending me away
Me sleeping in the neighbor’s bathtub, where it was safe.
You. Alone.
Me. Alone.
Him. Alone.

The seesawing sun of solipsy,
A satrapy of soliloquy,
Sol was once but now is she,
Sailed off into a darkened sea,
Sith some solitary soiree,
Goodbye my Sirius from Wi!

Oh solely solar solemn stigmata!
Sun’s sobriquet solitaire staccato!
And sonorous salute sonata!
Sing past swaddling clouds of terracotta!
A crucifying crescendo armada!
And endless stars in space of Satá!

Insatiable story of a Son’s redemption,
Who stole away the sins of man’s convention,
A cross and form at right ascension!
The astronomy and mythology of the aforementioned,
Whom but was pierced for our transgression,
The tale that lead to man’s discretion.

Walking through clouds of love
Over fields of happiness
Along rivers of rippling laughter
Smiling like the sun in the sky
My journey through my world of life

Will this road of beautiful thoughts
Last through growing of giant trees
Endless rainbows of colourful ideas
Of meeting layers of wonderful people
Seesawing through their world of life

Clinging to the ceiling of fun
Helping myself to fruits of joy
Watching whirlpools of minds at work
Sometimes floored by sheer delight
Swinging through my world of life

Sparring against deep depression
Soaring above my plight of rejection
Hoping with a lifting heart
I'm breaking out of my fragile shell
Waking up to a better world of life.

the snow flirts with you better than I can
when we walk back from the bookstore,
where books are discounted for one week only
and we passed recommendations
between the shelves and said
I heard this one’s good.

there’s discarded masks by the subway entrance
like malformed *****, mouthless and obsolete,
a whiff of Korean food that meanders
out from the takeaway
and I offload corny joke after corny joke not even worthy
for the back of a beermat
or graffiti-besieged toilet cubicle but you laugh
anyway out of pity I suspect,

the sack of books (Vonnegut, Glück, Didion) seesawing
by your side, our footprints a transitory
punchline behind us.

She is gone again
Gone living him all alone
Alone with his thoughts and pain

She gave convincing reasons to leave
But he has convincing doubts
Doubts many enough not to believe

But he cannot keep her
He cannot
Because be has not enough to feed her

On a cold breezy night
With misses of her warmth
He has nothing else but his bottle of liquor to hold on tight

Thoughts of her kills him inside
He can only have her in his mind
But not by his side

Who is she with this time
That is the question seesawing on his mind
And he wonders if loving her is a crime

Why can't he leave her for another
Another one maybe better
But only he knows how hard it was to find him a lover

I found an old ivory-decorated little box tucked away among her possessions.
The box was locked but easy to foil by a person determined to seek answers.
The old woman had a lived a charmed life full of money, travel, and whiskey.

She had worn her classical beauty as a haughty warning to all who came near.
An acerbic genius at inserting the dagger right into the softest spot with ease.
Her own soft spot was animals, the wilder the better. Her feral streak, I guess.

The box felt empty but it was hiding a small crimped note underneath the velvet.
I hesitated. My face in the above gilded mirror was not the face I depended upon.
Flashes of the old woman blurred my vision. I imagined the old cord between us.

The old cord, discarded continually. Seesawing between venom and disinterest.
No back-up plan, no come-to-Jesus moments, just an invisible border wall.
I can’t seem to breathe, the portentous air enveloping me as I read:
“I did the best I could. Mom.” I shut the box and put it back where it belonged.