as if I lay venting in my bed,
covered with all my patch-quilt successes,
making myself into a home-body
rather than show some self-diligence
and source what my muted venting has to offer.
I guess I am settled,
grounded in negative emotions.
this shows me, my self-indulgence
has certain insular but profound aspects to it.
I could be an all-over hairy being
and others would abide and minimize visual contact.
it's like low self-esteem
as a constant skin rash beneath my clothes.
well, that is what it indirectly feels like.
shit, everyone has their own private mountain of hell,
why should I not live on top of mine?
don't even think about asking me?
all my words are not capitalized
but they are blunt, at least tonally blunt to hear.
sure, maybe I am a wondrous castle on a dubious mountain,
but I now have a forest of intermittency growing.
no clear paths of entry or exit for either of us.
I was born, my own junkyard dog.
I can think it's dark night and start barking inside me.
yes, maybe I am an internal control freak,
but I have plenty of irrational reasons for that.
none of which I am ever going to tell you.
I have self-admiration,
so get off my front lawn, as if secretly staring.
the only way we can get along
is on amped up motorcycles of intention in passing.
I can relate to a wide variety of hums but not blab.
hire me to dig grave sites
and oddly, that brings a smile to my heart.
how could you intentionally understand that?
have we met in other lifetimes?
if so, shut the fuck up and keep being.
it helps, more than I can ever tell you, straight out . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment