I’m disappointed in myself as usual

I’m disappointed to reach for something I can not feel

I’m disappointed with my voice of truth

I’m disappointed in my ignorant silence

I’m disappointed with my points of view

I’m disappointed with my deceptive mind

I’m disappointed in the fool I can’t see

I’m disappointed that I couldn’t feel the needles puncture my skin

I use to languish in the polygon of my weeping mind

I thirst for the fragments of my anguish to mold my center

I use to sulk inside myself and drink the wine of selfishness

I sunk my teeth into the dejection

I use to dwell in the camouflage and sink in my words

I swam in the black river under the oppression

I use to neglect faith and drown in the empty tear ducts

I fell into the depths of silence

I use to grieve in the awaken sadness and never sleep

I felt the last breath deceive me

I use to shed my dead skin in the morning to erase the gloomy nights

I carried a chain of misery

I use to gasp at the hollowness and gazed at the autograph

I refused to stare at the nemesis

I saw the signature and found it revolting

A transformation within shouted

Constantly disoriented

frozen whispers speak to me

A deep hunger

to be understood

An appetite

to be stirred by intimacy

No one cares

No one shows it

Efforts are fallen between

the cracks

No one hears me

No one listens

Distorted perception wakens

This is my canvas

Only a writer, a poet,

will gravitate to my words

To everyone else

I am not here

No verses can disguise

the barbwire truth

Furious on the inside

Depression settles like dust

A intact plan merges

Ignoring my needs

Methodical and analytical

Reread the chorus

Every day was an opportunity

you threw away to show me

Nothing will prepare you

for what I’m about to do….

Exchanging blows

Trouncing the integrity

Parading with clout

Testifying with a punch

Ruthless and cold

Clobbering with animosity

Losing perspective

Gaining self worth

Sitting on a Island

without a blanket of protection

Circling apathy

with loneliness on a death bed

Persecuting myself

Questioning my beliefs

Constantly defending my being

Slowly giving up to society’s views

Beneath the clutter

and the discolored anxiety

the war between us continues

Engulfed by the

fractured promises

Gobbled up by the

untamed distance

Dwelling in the dusk

crawling through the

dark wild

Regurgitated phrases

of shades of love

Acknowledging the

hardened suffering

Stomaching the

patronizing goodbyes

Inhaling your desolate

and sinister perfume

Sucking and gulping

your mocking remarks

Withstanding your

arrogance and malicious core

Underneath the deceased

your stigma withers

I’m so fucking mad

About the day I had

She wasn’t glad

That I kissed Chad

I’m so freaking upset

About what I didn’t get

She was part of the bet

By Monday she will forget

I’m so undesirably distraught

About the day I lost

She was happy I got caught

My feelings can’t be bought

I’m so damn pissed

About the day I missed

She was in the A list

By the weekend I cut my wrist

Pouring down overused mentalities

Change fumbling around

Pulling four quarters to insert

in the old fashioned jukebox

Numbers exchanged between

the mentalist and the statue

Between the shot glass

and the pint of a Irish stout

Scattered observations are slurred

Tip toeing through the cigar vapors

and the barking stilettos

Polluted with aggravation’s

and lipstick smudges on the glass

Empty barstools are playing violins

Loneliness waits for no one

Be careful where you drown

your heartache and sorrows

Look up at the glaring neon sign

The Bottomless crutch

You call

yourself a friend

But you are not

One by one

Evidence is clear

Meaningless word

Slowly my contacts

are erased from

my mind that use

that word

Don’t worry

My friends are the

words that are here

before my

awakened eyes

I know where I

get the attention

that I crave

It’s from people

who don’t even know me

that see me in

a different light

I “connect” with those

that write from the soul

and the heart.

I can accept the loneliness.

I fell in love

with a broken soul

I fell in love

with her sunrise and sunset

I fell in love

with her wild animation

I fell in love

with her wick and poison

I fell in love

with her sharp blade

I fell in love

with her sensuous magic

I fell in love

with her burnt threshold

I fell in love

with her over the top style

I fell in love

with her distorted image

I fell in love

with her scrapes and bruises

I fell in love

with her brightness and mind

I fell in love

with her alluring voice

But her words destroyed me

and left me in emptiness

on Cabrillo Avenue

The quiet man is a cerebral hunter. The quiet man gravitates to the intellect. He is absorbed into observing and memorizing behavior. The quiet man is a visionary. The quiet man is complex and fascinated with the dynamics of relationships. The quiet man values quality not quantity. The quiet man sees the world through others. The quiet man seeks purity. The quiet man seeks beauty in all; perhaps he sits silently in the distance. The quiet man seeks simplicity in the complex. The quiet man is methodical and artistic. The quiet man is an optimist and embraces the warmth of humans. The quiet man is not a perfectionist. The quiet man admits when he is wrong and does not judge. The quiet man believes in the phrase “I can”. The quiet man sees the value of stages: growth and the truth. The quiet man reaches for spirituality. The quiet man has high standards and is goal oriented. He believes in equality. He is captivated by harmony and the melody of humans. The quiet man is viewed as an anti-socialist by others, a volcano ready to erupt. The quiet man defies social labels. The quiet man is blind by color, but can clearly see ignorance. The quiet man does not have the answers for everything, but only has perception. The quiet man does not like drama or self-pity. The quiet man is ambitious. The quiet man is shaken by intimacy. The quiet man is disturbed by his emotions. Perhaps the quiet man is tired of how he is viewed and labeled. The quiet man is not quiet. Perhaps no one listens to the quiet man, and how could they? The quiet man’s tongue is burning. The quiet man’s perception of himself is mediocrity. When the quiet man speaks, heads turn. People ignore the quiet man. Nobody cares what the quiet man has to say. He knows how he is viewed and would like the change that perception. As much as he tries to change, the label sticks. The quiet man is invisible. What is the quiet man to do? The quiet man is speechless. The quiet man is patient. The quiet man does not want to be the center of attention, but just to be noticed for something else than being quiet. The quiet man is misunderstood. The quiet man is not superficial. Perhaps others are wearing a mask. Perhaps the quiet man is afraid of what others will say when he speaks. Perhaps the quiet man just wants to be himself and be accepted for who he is, not a label. Perhaps we are all labeled in society from the minute we are born; from each stage of life that we enter. Someone gave you a label and it stuck. The reality is that every one of us is different. We are who we are and can’t change that. We like what we like and dislike what we dislike. The minute we speak of it, we are judged not for who we are, but interests. People bond due to interest in general, not for how we approach, live, and manage our lives. Perhaps the quiet man just wants to be accepted for who he is…doesn’t anyone care what the quiet man’s perception is? Maybe if we dug beyond the surface of people, everyone is beautiful in some small way. We all have quirks hang-ups, baggage, skeletons in the closets, and that really shouldn’t matter. Does that define who we are? No.

I can’t tell

If I’m lost

or if I’m just not found

I can’t tell

If I’m confused

or if I’m in a fog

I can’t tell

If I’m the enigma

or if I’m missing pieces

I can’t tell

If I’m scared of myself

or just want to be hidden

I can’t tell

If I’m in a movie

or my reality is dramatic

I can’t tell

if I’m an introvert

or I just enjoy being alone

I can’t tell

if I want to live

or if I’m content being alive

I’m a blurry train wreck
I’m the bottom of a pit
I’m the black ice in the winter
I’m the darkest rain cloud
I’m the sting from the bee
I’m a fading car crash
I’m the dust on the ground
I’m the tears in my lonely eyes
I’m a distant social disease
I’m the monster under my bed
I’m the skeleton in my closet
I’m the spider creating my own web
I’m the tarantula in the desert
I’m the demon in my soul

Clarity settles around my ankles

Shackles tightly circling my wrists

A opaque warrant for the end

In arial font harshly awakens

crawling dismembered spiders

around my distant coffin

No eulogy or words will be spoken

Just an empty room of formalities

Guests sitting out of obligation

As time passes as I’m alive

Leave me in the closet with

the laughing faded skeleton

Playing chess with my demons

No tears for the desolate child within

Walk away from my numb ghost

Shaking hands with apathy

Disheartened by those who make

false claims and promises

Leave me abandoned in the dusk

****

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