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JoeUser Forums
Nothing I've written lately has stuck out as particularly blog worthy (apparently I've developed some sort of standards...who knew?)so I thought I'd compile a bunch of poems (largely unedited - suggestions welcomed) that made it into the journal over the past week or two into a single blog...please endure only as much as you can or as recommended by your doctor or physician.
If Ever
If ever there was a good time,
I missed it.
Didn't even get to hear
the door slam,
too busy shuffling for solitaire,
and checking voicemail.
Mom asks about you,
and you're halfway home already,
so my burdens have finally become your impediments,
to getting anything past my grocery list,
and coversations that ended in dollar signs.
If ever there were good times,
I had them with you.
Didn't even care where we'd end up
as long as kept moving,
too busy longing
and checking fluid levels.
You want me to meet your mom
and I'm halfway there,
you share the weight,
and I'd share these thoughts.
If ever.
Dancing
There will be days
where I will dance,
just for spite
sober and smiling.
Almost rhythmic in my apology
keeping time and tempo
hidden from you and your intimidations.
Though never their purpose,
or intention.
Somehow I can move again
bouncing around the room.
Nothing less
than effortless,
but something more,
than ever before.
Sways my shoulders
and nods my head,
alone in front of the bedroom mirror,
only one pillow on my bed.
I was here
I can trace out my day
on the fake wood grain.
I will find my way
through this maze.
My day,
exhausted from inactivity,
leaves no energy for apathy.
Wood grain and dial-tuned
returns my efforts to
unconscious-automatic.
Scratching words with potential,
but doomed to be lost
in the maze
with the keys
to somewhere I probably used to live,
somewhere,
I was.
Blowing away plastic remains,
this is exactly what is revealed,
I was here.
Hopefully not to be read on my epitaph,
desperate need to achieve an "am"
before I can be a "was."
Well,
I "am" trying,
to show that,
I "was" trying.
Leaving Angry
Leave angry,
if that's the only way to leave happy,
but for God's sake just leave,
me alone,
either way,
I've left you.
You packed fictional dishonesty,
hoping to collect apologies
insincere or forced,
these, I'm afraid, are your only choices.
I am just as sorry as you,
that you're not the one.
Whatever happened to graceful exits,
I guess let's not be friends,
or apparently we can't be until
those wounds mend,
that I apparently afflicted upon your
inexperience and trust,
leave angry if you must.
Now that all my emotions are committed to your immaturity,
I have little left to give,
and that's all you left me here with.
Just be glad you're not the one.
Gave Chase
i only wanted to stab at,
and wound with
jagged words.
To see if,
you'd really bleed
a single drop.
Not as all my clothes
stained brown-red,
slashing at my weaknesses.
How come,
everytime you play naive,
I have to play dumb?
Never a trade off,
you cashed in my patience,
for your comfort,
well this is the cost.
Games, I'm not playing,
I'm just through playing tag,
I could never figure out when I was it.
I know now that you never were
and that hurts
as much as it should.
You were so worried
about letting yourself be hurt,
when the work needed to be done,
you made sure I did the job myself.
So here's where we're not,
just as predicted,
but you tag me and walk away slowly,
longing,
and vindictive.
All I had to do,
was watch my poor judgement
disappear over your horizon
and settle another night in confusion.
I am relieved only long enough
to convince myself that I'm not already lonely.
I've been,
and I'll be,
as us,
or you and I,
lonely.
That deserves no fault,
but demands explanation.
If you ever appreciated how much you wanted me
to chase you,
or how I never would let you catch up.
So here's a headstart for both of us,
to play fair and give chase.
The Feet of the Savage
In repetition,
I accept the trench I've paced in.
Finally the floor is at eye level
and with them,
I can see everything once below my feet.
I forget if I'm forgetful
or if I'm just trying to drive home the same point.
I forget exactly what the point was,
but I know if is here,
somewhere once beneath my feet,
now at eye level,
I can finally see.
The damage is done,
but far from completed,
there is much work to do,
if I am ever to make the dealine
that's been stretched out so thin
and inbetween the borders
of the grey area.
Surveying the damage,
so severely expanding beyond the walls.
In repetition,
I've dug deep, or dug deeper,
the hole I was afforded
under strict assumption that whatever I find,
once beneath my feet,
belongs to me.
This was never true, however,
and I never assumed it was,
buried beneath eye level
is repetitious ordering layered out
carefully so as not to disturb
a single assumption.
I repair,
following my pacing,
never back and forth,
circular paths forever replacing
the next step from the last.
Deep I am digging,
up to the surface with me bringing,
anything I've been able to salvage,
from the surface on down and up below my bare feet,
the feet of the savage.
If Ever
If ever there was a good time,
I missed it.
Didn't even get to hear
the door slam,
too busy shuffling for solitaire,
and checking voicemail.
Mom asks about you,
and you're halfway home already,
so my burdens have finally become your impediments,
to getting anything past my grocery list,
and coversations that ended in dollar signs.
If ever there were good times,
I had them with you.
Didn't even care where we'd end up
as long as kept moving,
too busy longing
and checking fluid levels.
You want me to meet your mom
and I'm halfway there,
you share the weight,
and I'd share these thoughts.
If ever.
Dancing
There will be days
where I will dance,
just for spite
sober and smiling.
Almost rhythmic in my apology
keeping time and tempo
hidden from you and your intimidations.
Though never their purpose,
or intention.
Somehow I can move again
bouncing around the room.
Nothing less
than effortless,
but something more,
than ever before.
Sways my shoulders
and nods my head,
alone in front of the bedroom mirror,
only one pillow on my bed.
I was here
I can trace out my day
on the fake wood grain.
I will find my way
through this maze.
My day,
exhausted from inactivity,
leaves no energy for apathy.
Wood grain and dial-tuned
returns my efforts to
unconscious-automatic.
Scratching words with potential,
but doomed to be lost
in the maze
with the keys
to somewhere I probably used to live,
somewhere,
I was.
Blowing away plastic remains,
this is exactly what is revealed,
I was here.
Hopefully not to be read on my epitaph,
desperate need to achieve an "am"
before I can be a "was."
Well,
I "am" trying,
to show that,
I "was" trying.
Leaving Angry
Leave angry,
if that's the only way to leave happy,
but for God's sake just leave,
me alone,
either way,
I've left you.
You packed fictional dishonesty,
hoping to collect apologies
insincere or forced,
these, I'm afraid, are your only choices.
I am just as sorry as you,
that you're not the one.
Whatever happened to graceful exits,
I guess let's not be friends,
or apparently we can't be until
those wounds mend,
that I apparently afflicted upon your
inexperience and trust,
leave angry if you must.
Now that all my emotions are committed to your immaturity,
I have little left to give,
and that's all you left me here with.
Just be glad you're not the one.
Gave Chase
i only wanted to stab at,
and wound with
jagged words.
To see if,
you'd really bleed
a single drop.
Not as all my clothes
stained brown-red,
slashing at my weaknesses.
How come,
everytime you play naive,
I have to play dumb?
Never a trade off,
you cashed in my patience,
for your comfort,
well this is the cost.
Games, I'm not playing,
I'm just through playing tag,
I could never figure out when I was it.
I know now that you never were
and that hurts
as much as it should.
You were so worried
about letting yourself be hurt,
when the work needed to be done,
you made sure I did the job myself.
So here's where we're not,
just as predicted,
but you tag me and walk away slowly,
longing,
and vindictive.
All I had to do,
was watch my poor judgement
disappear over your horizon
and settle another night in confusion.
I am relieved only long enough
to convince myself that I'm not already lonely.
I've been,
and I'll be,
as us,
or you and I,
lonely.
That deserves no fault,
but demands explanation.
If you ever appreciated how much you wanted me
to chase you,
or how I never would let you catch up.
So here's a headstart for both of us,
to play fair and give chase.
The Feet of the Savage
In repetition,
I accept the trench I've paced in.
Finally the floor is at eye level
and with them,
I can see everything once below my feet.
I forget if I'm forgetful
or if I'm just trying to drive home the same point.
I forget exactly what the point was,
but I know if is here,
somewhere once beneath my feet,
now at eye level,
I can finally see.
The damage is done,
but far from completed,
there is much work to do,
if I am ever to make the dealine
that's been stretched out so thin
and inbetween the borders
of the grey area.
Surveying the damage,
so severely expanding beyond the walls.
In repetition,
I've dug deep, or dug deeper,
the hole I was afforded
under strict assumption that whatever I find,
once beneath my feet,
belongs to me.
This was never true, however,
and I never assumed it was,
buried beneath eye level
is repetitious ordering layered out
carefully so as not to disturb
a single assumption.
I repair,
following my pacing,
never back and forth,
circular paths forever replacing
the next step from the last.
Deep I am digging,
up to the surface with me bringing,
anything I've been able to salvage,
from the surface on down and up below my bare feet,
the feet of the savage.
.