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Sick of Subtle Stagnation

Shoes suctioned in the soft soil I stay the course, shivering, scared to stray.  Slowing steps set the spirit softly to the sand.  Sometimes the sparrows soaring above the silhouettes of sycamores in the sky seize me and steady my soul.  With swinging sails and a strong surge, I should span the stars.  Staunch strides and relentless resolve send me swiftly towards the stretch.  See me on the surface? See me on the swell?  I am driven and developing and dormant no more.  Rise and reach me.  Ever evolving and everlasting is what I'll be.


 I have been inadequate for so long I feel like accepting it is the only way to be happy.  An inadequate son, brother, role model, student, and fuck, even things I enjoy doing I do poorly. I am sick of being viewed as someone who can just be walked on, stepped over, and ignored.  In the end I always cave because I don't have a middle ground.  When I stand up for myself I go too far, even with people who I care about.  I want to take a sledge hammer and just see how deep a hole I can make by pounding the earth.  I want to ruin something beautiful.  I want to destroy something permanently.  But I know I will regret the permanence of anything I do and then dwell in self pity, rinse and repeat.  I would learn how to fight but I know that I would likely add to my track record of mediocrity and probably take it too far.  I feel like I wouldn't know how to soften the blow in a fight, I can only imagine a fight to kill.  This bitch had me biting my tongue for so long it is puffy in my mouth.  I wanted to see her squirm in denial up at the podium.  I wanted to see the tears roll down her cheek when she had to reveal to the audience that she had exaggerated everything and that she was using me as her whipping boy. I wanted to witness her confrontation with reality.  It is something I will never do but my life will always bear this scar.  I can pretend that she is not in my rearview mirror but she will always be standing there next to the 3 years of my life she ripped away and the tatters of what once was that I still clung to.  I am expected to pay a man who earns in 1 hour what I earn in 2 days.  I have to push myself so hard just to get a taste of what once was and in the meantime I have disappointed everyone.  I am judged by everyone.  I have gained nothing but a hate of emotions, a feeling of being looked down upon, and a strong distrust in my fellow man.  A friend did me a favor and it was going to cost me $100 dollars.  I am still not sure if I will every get anything for that money but I am desperate and have no other choice.  What about women? Letting them have any element of knowledge over who you are will get you played used and potential cost you everything.  I don't have any patience left for trying to find a partner, soulmate, leech, or whatever you want to call it.  I don't want obligations towards anyone but myself.  Children are used as a bonding element for parents and make the parents feel a sense of pride and accomplishment at the cost of finances, social life, and peace of mind, those are 3 things that will be negatively impacted permanently(clearly my problem is with commitment) but that doesn't change anything I have said.  It is with this attitude that I really think the military may be my best way to deal with all of the above.  I will never have any obligations stateside, I will hopefully prove myself at least to me or die trying, and I can earn at least some sense of dignity back.  If I am lucky maybe I can die for a good cause, if not at least I had the balls to go eat up death number x so somebody else didn't. I am smarter than many people who have done better than me.  I will not let that stop me from getting my life back together and I will work my ass off to prove myself.

curb stomp

I wake up to the stench of the sewers rising through the grate. I have had my head pushed down and I am being asked to bite the curb.  I turn my gritted teeth into a smile as I politely decline the request.  My oppressor is stomping her feet next to me.  Occasionally my head gets kicked into the pavement and I get a little blood on my ego.  Many of my once friends walk by on the street passing my apartment and they find it rude that I have been avoiding them.  My mouth is dry and I cannot yell for help from the alley as I watch them pass with upturned noses.  Should I hate them or understand them?  Other once friends stand in the alley with me. They are all wearing blindfolds and applauding my oppressor.  The passer-by's sense the commotion but are afraid to ask for fear of what awaits in the dark alley.  The speech was familiar.  I can see the shadow of the puppeteer on the fire escape and I know who's shadow it must be.  It is not death that scares me, it is that I know my oppressor is  seeking to paralyze me from the neck down and make me live.  I hear the lyrics: Enmity Gauged, United By Fear.



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April 2010


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