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Poetry by Robert M. Levasseur

So now you’re feeling sorry for yourself? Your pain and anguish gnawing at you? Just because to start you ended up the object of another’s twisted fantasy and there were four of you but then Gloria asphyxiated you have no claim to sorrow you were one for God’s sake and the playground beat you down and you drowned and drowned and choked on loneliness and fear and pain. Just because belts flew freely and love and affection lived at someone else’s house and entire summers were dedicated to you being locked away forgotten faded from view and the sled that your brother John was killed on so what it was on Christmas? Would you have picked Easter for dying? No one cares that you saw that you were there your mother held you so tight and so lovelessly. How many homes did it take to teach you loss? You didn’t expect Juvenile Halls to echo with laughter did you? How much weed helped you breath? How did all the weather feel while you searched for another hallway to rest your 18 years in? Did you really think that the bottle would be your friend as you stumbled through college dorms city streets bars and nightclubs year after anguished year searching for the bosom that would set you free? So what love eviscerated you at 21 nearly killing you join the club you were weak and pathetic. All that poetry and nothing to show for it. One abortion was too many 200 women too few. How did it feel to end your military career in shame? At ease no one cares poor you to lose a child to destroy a marriage to lose your kids to devolve into booze and drugs and suicide attempts and ideations the psych drugs should have completed your mind and just because you’ve worked at over 60 jobs doesn’t mean you are smarter than anyone, everyone book smart life dumb right? Keep fighting, keep swinging keep the bitterness at bay just because he didn’t tell you your mother died until after she was cremated doesn’t mean you have a copyright to rage a claim to pity. No, go tell it on the mountain because you are just like everyone else get over it. And then SHE came along and then SHE made you pay for all your sins didn’t she? SHE came to break you to strip the last remnant of a delusional life from your tortured mind the last vestige of hope from your bones chewed you up, spit you out all those pills should have completed the job she watched you do it anyway how you didn’t die from that surely only Dante knows go ahead and ask him. So now what? Gonna lie down, curl up, go cry in the corner about how your life has passed you by how lonely you still are 52 lame ass years later? What are you going to do now crybaby? Take your puny life and screw. I’m done with you. (click on the picture to buy my poetry book!)

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020

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Date: 12/29/2020 11:38:00 AM
Writing is a cathartic process for many great poets. This is a very strong insight into your true muse Levasseur. What doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Those warriors that fall and get back up again, the ones still marching through their dark nights. This exploratory process will be the making of you, but you know this already. One of the best ones I have read this morning, that along with the one about your mother, where I shall leave a comment. The best writing, even fictional, comes through the darkest part of us, where honesty walks hand in hand with the remnants of love and integrity. Leanne.
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Labyrinth Avatar
Lady Labyrinth
Date: 12/30/2020 1:16:00 AM
Believe me Levasseur, I have been incredibly wrong in my summation of people in my life and of myself sometimes, but with age and all the experience I've had comes wisdom and to hell with anyone who wants to correct me on this one - I believe perhaps the "writing" is not your greatest calling alone in life, but it is leading you there. I look forward to reading more of your stronger writes about "Life" and how it all becomes victorious... for you - I believe you are already on that Victory march. x
Levasseur Avatar
Rob Levasseur
Date: 12/29/2020 1:34:00 PM
Yes Leanne, you are right. This was a tough one because I had to take a look in the mirror and write not only of my tremendous pain, but the things I was responsible for that further elevated my demise in life.