#1455

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she says I should write about myself
what I’m feeling, maybe
(what I won’t admit I’m feeling)
but I’m no good at this
I dance around subjects like a fencer
when I should strike
onetwothree
like a boxer
beat them bloody with my fists
curb-stomp their teeth in
and I guess what I’m feeling
is anger
is fear
is helpless
and what I don’t feel is
safe

(but don’t we all?)

I guess what I’m feeling
is angry
angry at a world I can’t trust
angry at a society built to subjugate
everything I am
everything and everyone I hold dear
so angry I want to lash out somehow
brand myself with ink and metal
unleash ghosts, breathe fire
bleed and scream and sing dirges
just fuck shit up, really
and the irony is this fight’s not even the one that hurts

(the most)

because I’m still feinting my blade
see how good I am?
and the real story
the real thing I’m feeling
is as empty as the house I imagine when I look inside myself
and hear
nothing
and see
nothing
and feel
nothing, nothing, NOTHING
because I have been vacated like someone exorcised
and I wonder if they miss the demons, after
the invasive presence
the madness
the companionship

(it’d be something, at least)

(I’d take it)

4 thoughts on “#1455”

  1. I found this poem so powerful. and normally i think that I don’t ‘get’ poetry…but this piece really hit me . kind of goes with my life at the moment, Looking forward to following your blog.
    sheila

    Reply ↓

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