I.
your insecurities
are awe inspiring
but in a bad way.
II.
I feel the deep pettiness
you are burdened with
and I wish I could
rip it off you
like an old band-aid;
it will hurt
but just for a second.
III.
your paranoia
is the wet suit you wear
to swim in the sea of bullshit
you have allowed
to overflow into your life.
sorrow the spoon
drips honey on the floor
cherish the one who no longer
grief, holding all your feelings back
until you are afraid
sorrow the empty spoon.
***********
the great wall
your silence,
an impenetrable
conglomerate
of concrete resolution,
the great wall.
there you are,
the warrior,
in full uniform,
your helmet pulled down low
over your eyes,
looking down upon me.
as with all dark forces,
your strength is also
your weakness.
I leave you to your wall,
turn my horse
and ride.
at the bottom
of the falls
under the pounding
water
the rocks
wear away
until they are
hollowed.
(Just so there is no confusion, this poem is a rank out and complete mockery of anyone who thinks that they can get through life without ever facing themselves; you know who you are.)
it sounds like a thing you could lose...
you would look for it under the couch
and say "where's the loss?
I can't find it...
I know it's around here somewhere.
I just saw it a few weeks ago."
then, you might find it
it might look like - beauty
or love
or friendship
or an old sock full of lint and dust
and you would say "ah, here it is",
checking it over for any damage,
feeling a little indifferent to it
or maybe you would be
happy,
joyful even
that you found the loss;
and you can put it away now, in its proper place.
