There’s an empty canvas above my head,
Where in place of a fan, lies a horse instead,
It breaks free from a self-loathing shed,
At times, when lips silenced words from being said.
Runs across the wall, the horse
But without glee, despite being free, without any remorse,
Numbly it sprints in a white landscape,
For it to understand its purpose is beyond vague.
As it gallops, it leaves a trail of self-identity behind,
Unaware of the absence of a sound mind,
It doesn’t take long for years to pass from specks of time,
And the canvas remains an art piece, still confined.
Displeased by my efforts, I try to find an eraser,
I sigh as I realise that fate was never in my favour,
With no escape from what I’ve just done,
I prepare myself for the final outcome.
So, a cowardly canvas is above my head,
But in place of a horse lies a fan instead,
It is attached to a rope?—?compassionately holding my head,
At last, I die as a muse of a cowardly death.
i wake up
in a body
that is not mine
who tied these strings
to my bones
and made me dance
-–
there are eyes
i cannot see
but they see me
whispersofverses.com for more i guess
they weigh me down
with their silence
with their judgment
-–
the mirror whispers
you are not enough
not the face
not the heart
not the soul
it spits back
what i already know
-–
how do you live
when your shadow
feels like a stranger
when the voice in your head
is your worst enemy
-–
they tell me
to love myself
but how can i
when my reflection
is a war zone
when every piece of me
is a battle lost
-–
the walls are closing in
the masks are smiling
the strings are pulling
and i am breaking
-–
but no one notices
because my cracks
are silent
My suit of self-loathing no longer fits
The mirror of compassion tells me so
Years of bad-intentions held back growth
After a time, the length of my sleeves bind
I didn’t realize I’ve become over-sized
These angry pants are fit for a small child
How silly I look with cuffs choking wrists
How I’ve loved my painfully straight jacket
Like it or not, the right suit still waits
No one other than I can disrobe loathing
The best cloak is the one from the womb
It takes skill to unstitch a childish blazer
It takes care to unhem pants outgrown
It takes love to go out in my birthday suit
Let tatters of anxiety fall down the chute
Self-loathing keeps me from disrobing
But, I’m not ready to shed my suit yet
The manly scissors that cuts are too heavy
After self-loathing is bare understanding
Forgive the man unstitching childishness
Let go of short-comings without clinging
Take the macho suit off the rack with care
Try on that fitted suit made for just me
Wear it till love fills the over-sized space
Take it all off till nakedness feels nice
Matthew 24:18
"Whoever is in the field must not turn back to get his cloak."
Overwhelming thoughts pour into my head with every breath that I take.
Maybe if it was a bit more quiet I wouldn’t shut down from every little mess I make.
In time this empty shell gets filled with pity and loathing, for the person that I’ve made.
I know I will lose control one day, and the tears will flow as I finally break.
The mind is a mysterious vessel
It carries decisions and memories of yesterday but
No matter how many whiskeys, they will not disappear
It replays life altering choices
Alongside choices not made, in a whine
A stamp of regret imprinted on the brain
The only way to erase it, through death
As Sisyphus, my punishment is grueling but deserved
The ache of self-loathing is like shouldering 100 slaughtered men
The colt 45 calls louder today than normal
Its call seducing
Claiming the pestering will dissipate if only
I paint the ceiling crimson red
Oh, I think today its victorious
As the liberating barrel tastes of sweet escape
Its forces are immense and face withered resistance
Swimming thoughts fly away
Refreshing darkness comes with one, quick, pull.
My messed up mind draws a blank,
My motivational efforts have sank
Nothing but a chaotic stream of stagnant thoughts,
Starting a mental battle which continuously has to be fought,
Sleep deprived and mentally drained,
My eyes can’t lie they truly show there strained,
Trying to hide my psychotic state from everyone,
Even though the person I once new has most certainly gone,
The mask I choose to wear helps me hide my dispair,
From the loved ones who I feel no longer care,
The promise I once made,
Does not cause the thoughts to fade,
Depression haunts every corner of my mind,
Causing me to have cried,
It takes hold and feels like it’s tearing into your soul,
Until it finally takes its last toll,
Deeper thoughts swirl in my clouded mind,
Now Happiness seems so hard to find.
I am your defication
I am farted galvanism
To be wiser than one's creator
Is no great source of pride.
Invisible to the naked eye
traumatization (courtesy
chastising and reproaching -
by fellow classmates
and later in life
birth parents and inlaws
dealt hefty figurative jab)
tremendously impacted yours truly
analogous to him moving bajillion miles away
compounded by his withdrawn demeanor
diagnosed when he reached middle adulthood
as schizoid personality disorder,
thus exhibiting obvious developmental delay
bullied courtesy nasty brutes,
who scapegoated and rejoiced
with hip hip hurray,
meanwhile I experienced
terrible psychological melee
escaping to safe confines of bedroom,
where I wanted to stay
for mine remaining years of life.
Retrospective review
now approaching my doddering old age
constituted more'n one cruel (cheap) trick
played on super tramping urchin,
who traipes across virtual global stage
ensnared within whorled webbed wide
spending his hard earned itty bitty wage
spinning one strand after another.
stealing space,
the only thing that disappears when new ideas are born.
we are clothed in past experiences, divining directions
from someone else’s shadow. We clap applause for airs
that carry each of us to cause, support us in our stirrings;
give us strings to act as wings, wipe memories away
at the end of every day. We pray, We play, We say
we are awake from all our dreams; or so it seems.
gather together each of who you think you are
and join to yourself an idea that will someday not exist.
a stirring you cannot resist; A stick without a switch,
eternal scratch without so much an itch. To write or not.
Peroxide blonde and covered in petals,
Bleach kills flowers - She’s less softener than metal
A body rooted in pride, trying to run, Jackal and hide.
There’s some double entendres, catch them if you can,
There’s something about her, try to find it, you’ll both be damned.
To Cinderella she’s her own step sister,
Crying out for love, afraid of those who’d listen.
Just someone out there longing for a cause in existence,
Just someone out there, longing for a reason to stay persistent
No Reason
————————-
Many reasons
For me to not feel okay
Many reasons
To feel turmoil and disarray
Many reasons
To feel Sad , lost and lonely
Many reasons
To feel a nobody
Many reasons
Not to matter anymore
Many reasons
To feel alone and forlorn
Many reasons
To feel hopeless
And helpless
Many reasons
To be afraid of tomorrow
Many reasons
To not want this horror
But the saddest view I see
Is there are no reasons
For anyone to love me
Aren't we?
High class my ass
A veneer
That's all it is
Different thicknesses
Undercover libertines
Counterfeit Charlatans
Not everyone, maybe
But the majority
All the worlds a stage
As you like it right
Not everyone, okay.
Yeah, altruism exists
In its anonymity
Even Mother T. supposedly had her hand in the till
Can you believe that
Negligence too, Lawks-a-lordy
One hundred and ninety-five countries
Eight billion people
Seven thousand languages
Forty-two hundred religions
The makings of a show
…and it is, isn't it?
Nuke up
Puke up
Tally ho and away we go
The poverty of self- loathing
The of the cloak of poetry I once wore
does not protect me against my insecurity
the fear of being destitute.
Nowhere to hide when the northwesterly blows
and happy people dance at a restaurant
to the music, I composed in my heart.
Steamed up café windows people eating broth
gesticulate with forks to get me away
to eat their food in peace.
I have enough money for a cup of coffee but
they will not let in the drowning cat.
Never mind I lost my nerves
but it will be better when I write this down
and my notebook is dry with self-loathing.
What can I say that I have not already said?
What can I feel that I have not already felt?
Where are these poems coming from?
Is this all from one voice?
I recognize myself not.
What can I do to impress myself?
Wild laughter now.
Wild crazy, insane, terrible laughter
From the bowels of one who is yet
even faintly amused.
I resign myself to throwing more stuff on a page,
hoping to like something. Push my chair back,
which gets caught on sixty-five pages of junk
I did not like, which are now under the wheel.
Wither away in my old shoes
rust brown thoughts
sorrow is not anyone's possession
a single tear belongs to us all
I know
I have stolen the book of wisdom
in the blackness of life
looking back
I see it all
beauty
loneliness
sad songs
beaten dreams
In a broth scolded hot
boiling all my clichés
steam fills the windows pain
but I do not see this
A burden of proof
I can no longer carry
the light switch , switched off
the stars sleep
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