If You Would Just Hear Me Out

Nobody wants to hear a boring story. 'specially when voices drone, monotone like an ancient documentary recording or there’s so much "peace" and "happiness" you begin to doubt sincerity and the lack of any message results in a lack of any clarity. Bueller, Bueller... there’s nothing cooler than watching eyes glaze and seal potentially mutual thoughts The point of this being, when it came to my story I always thought it would sound better to be more "lost" To find the prize from a cereal box you need to reach the very bottom And any sense of victory indicates a struggle once caught in So is it possible to put one’s head in the sand and be in the clouds at the same time? Is it possible to sink just low enough to brush ungodliness, yet set aside the rest of life as a distant picture of who I could be if I tried? Potential becoming merely a word wrapped in the minutes slipping by Folded, braided, knotted, tied I wanted to die to myself, why did false feeling stay alive? Personal insight and foresight must be a rarer gift than I imagined. It’s true you can’t always say what you’d do until it’s in the past, but by then You start to relate to things you used to hate so like a sweater with a string that you can’t stop pulling it starts to unravel and now an avalanche is rolling snowballs of thoughts that melt when at a stop lights flashing but no cops to make you promise dollars or change I need my future rearranged So maybe I’ll stay up and write the best tricks of parodies and lies And that’s okay, because on a page manipulation’s in the author’s hands the pen becomes a tool and like in Huxley's "Brave New World" we’re content to act the fool ................ ....now could come the ironic moment when you find yourself waiting for that "exciting" personal story that I’m not actually going to tell. Because being a poem, not a book I can make words flowery enough to have a hook that’s not necessarily attached to anything at all because its beauty lies where the ambiguity falls.