All of my reality
is posterized on the walls
of my self-inhibition.
My spiritual enterprise
is anxiety as a blockade.
Everything I claim as valid
exists as a negative affirmation
reinforcing my heroic memories
as a false notion of escape.
My path
down from the mountain
I aspire towards
is filled with my fear of falling up.
What I remember most about
is where I sit
in yesterday’s reward
for being there.
If I had a gun
for every time I have self doubt
I’d be an army
ready to fight
for all the wrong reasons
and equipped well to do so.
Oh sure, I aim to please
as a way of lessening
my wholehearted effort.
Someone in me knows
and I am hearing them
more clearly
after every repeat performance.
When is my noble cause
more than
an ignominious projection,
now holding me as hostage?
When is this a fending
brought forth
as value justified
by efforts as show?
There is no when
in the now,
it consumes itself.
I have the lungs
of a glass blower
but if my breath is laden
with dark thoughts.
What chance
does that glass of being have
for passing the light on ?
Someone in me knows
and I am hearing them
more clearly
after every repeat performance.
I have been trained, engrained
and acculturated
with attending experientially
to my highs and my lows.
At some place in my person
I am deeply bored
with spectating my life.
I have first person accounts
as if storied memories
fulfilling what is vacant.
I am a full-fledged custodian,
I am full time chaperon,
I am the mental manager,
in a mind field of awareness
and I sense that I am
dimensionally disabled
in my life embrace.
Someone in me knows
and I am hearing them
more clearly
after every repeat performance.
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