3 Poems

Most of the Time

Most of the time, poems come

from a deep broken place;

it’s a conundrum.

I like to write poems but do not like

to be in that place. Good thing

life does not let me choose,

most of the time.

 

Evening Poem II

To wish that others be happy seemed to be

such a good wish to wish, then

I actively wished it and witnessed my happiness whisked

away. Is it my mistake or theirs, that I wish it? Perhaps

the wish is not wrong, but the insistence that

the wish for happiness be what others wish too.

Wish them happiness I will, and to wish–but not insist–that they wish it too

won’t hurt.

 

Less-Than-Human, Worriness Poem

The police in me woke up;

I awoke with depression. Never had I interested myself in

rules or the line one must walk

certainly, with exact step and without stumble. I danced,

then, brought to a thin place, I scrutinized daily motions necessary for life to determine

which I could neglect and still cruise by the state

trooper, with a decent justification, and not get pulled over

for being less-than-human. Yes, depression makes me feel

less-than-human because I cannot fathom closing the fork drawer

much less mustering the energy and will to braid my hair or hold a full

conversation with another who may notice my less-than-human.

A full conversation may awake the police in them to finally incarcerate this restless mind

for being less:

10mg less than human.

30mg less than alive.

If I cannot close the fork drawer, or leave my bed without counting to ten slowly,

am I enough to merit the space I take up? Ask the police

of my mind–she still does not know.

 

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Revolutions From Dystopia

East, West

Salt, Pepper

Will I succeed, do well?

Shall I excel?

AM I DOING THIS RIGHT?

And the Wind says, “yes,” while the Waves say, “no.”

There is trees and there’s mountains

I’m going up UP uP Up

A hungry belly, ache behind eyes

Only to fall down DOWN doWn DowN

Clouds in the sky, puffy like pipe-smoke

Thousands of people I see in a day, but don’t talk to; how many of them will show up in my dreams tonight?

My tongue is inside my mouth, I feel it laying there, just as lazy and lethargic as tongues tend to be.

What about the 10 human beings that I did talk to today? Where do they stand in the grand scheme of this? Best friend? Boyfriend? Aunt? Uncle? Benefactor? Person.

Colors: red, orange, yellow, pink, fuschia, green-blue, black.

I know that I’ll belong

An orgasmic cacophony of sights smells boredom;

Being alive.