meaningless.

poems from a masochist created to inflict

[alongpause]

oh the contradictorus way my soul

moves through the desert

on dry and cracked hands and knees

i must say:

god damnit god damnit god damnit

i was born to be

on the other side of the world

moving throught the tundra

and cursing the skies for a bit of warmth

that i should ever be so far from you

would break my fucking heart

that i ever had to be so close to you

to know that I hate the heat

well that is the curse that lives in my blood

where you do

together we were meant for something bigger

for the thick line where one ocean meets the other

and they dance back and forth every day

we were never meant to be in exactly the same place

fire and ice, morning and night

it's all just nothing compared to you and me

and every night when i lay down

in the middle of this fucking desert

and finally try to get some sleep

inside i am screaming

why can't it just be ten fucking degrees colder

and you sleep easy with a smile on your face

[alongpause]

sometimes i don't know why i bother

hide the easter eggs, plastic, empty

strangers in the grass, pastel and frightening

no one sees them, somehow

so stark and alien yet unobserved

[alongpause]

i leave bruises everywhere i go

i pass through lives like a sledgehammer

i want to be a polite young man

some delicate thing, toothless and harmlessly senile

you can kick the dog, but say you're sorry

see the acceptance, the forgiveness

it's all here for you

trained up in the way i should go

i bow my head for the crook every time

thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me

anything softer is too much pain to bear

[alongpause]

ohhhh you crave pain because it's easyy. it's like a pizza party for guilty feelings. sit with the fact that no one is gonna punish u to release u from it. sit with the fact that you did something right for once and you don't have to feel this way and asking for the pain would make everything worse, would be something worth feeling guilty over. do you get it? can you ever understand that?

[alongpause]

brand-spanking new poem! fast-acting relief!

don't

fall

down

the

stairs

of

your

mind

nobody has cleaned out the cellar

are you happy now? mom? god? are you happy now?

if someone tells a joke and there's no one around to hear it, does it

i keep telling him i will muddle through, but I'm really thinking about muddling berries. did you know the juice is like their blood?

break the formatting again, please. being a poem hurts. that jazzed it up.

you can

be any

shape

(i can't i can't i can't)

you or me? who can't?

give me back the drugs i want, give me back my pills

THEY DESIGNED ME IN A LAB TO BE UNATTRACTIVE, BUT I GUESS THAT'S SOMEONE'S FETISH...

do you think it was hard for the beast when the beauty loved him? do you think it hurt?

is it always like pulling a knife out? is it always only ever going to be relief that brings pain?

you took out the kinfe. great. where are you putting it now???

i think he

aimed it

for my kidney

ow

couldn't you let the guilt subside? so what, you're not the perfect angel?

don't you think that crying out in pain when someone hurts you is an appropriate response?

hurt some feelings, be vindictave, spit in eyes... for what? to write another Bad Poem?

don't these mostly collect dust in your google docs these days?

yet THIS is the one that goes farm-to-table, huh?

something with some thought in it, well that was a tactical show. people need to think you're smart! they need to know you do things!

the mustard everyone puts on "wow, i didn't know you were a writer!"

because before that moment, they didn't know you had a thought in your head.

and now they're sitting there, wondering what in the hell you have to talk about.

SO,

show them

one measely poem

one errant thought bubble

that they didn't even like

can't you fucking tell? can't you tell?

he sat there and i know he thought,

"what an idiot,

what an asshole,

of course he wrote a poem,

about his parents.

of course, it's modern. of course, free verse.

of course, he ignores grammar on purpose cos he likes it better."

well, i, like, making, problems, for, emphasis,

,,,,,,

,,,,,,

,,,,,,,

a little present to tide a reader through. feel free to sprinkle the leftovers on a poem of your choosing.

the difference between a joke people like and understand and a joke people hate and find confusing is whether or not i still feel i deserve to live when it's over.

i don't forsee this one getting any laughs.

[alongpause]

anyone else wish they were a blank canvas upon which others could paint only what they desire to see? or is it just me. is it just me. is it just me. does the radio play anymore where you are? can you hear music? does it ever make you think of me? why would anyone think of me? i don't want you to think of me unless to see something beautiful and loveable. please paint that version of me. please don't let me be real to you. i don't want to be real to you. i want you to make me into something. please don't see what i am.

please don't think of me how i am.

[sitcomwatcher]

someone pick me up and drive me to the weed store and drive me back home and smoke weed with me and we can watch tv and wait on my grocery delivery and i have an extra weighted blanket and the A/C is blasting but i can turn it off if you want and I'll get you water in a silly cup and we can get snacks at the gas station first even and we can watch whatever you want i dont care i dont care just come sit and fight with me for the same air because nobody is even gonna lose that game. someone sit and look at their phone while i sit and look at my phone and we can eat chips and listen to music and wait for you to get sober so you can drive home and i can make you dinner first to thank you and you can hug me on your way out to thank me and I'll make sure you get out of the driveway safe and I'll wave to you and I'll stand barefoot on the grass in the cooling night air and stare wistfully up at the moon while i hope i get to see you again soon.

or something.

[cadavercavities]

youngest sibling......yeah yeah... you get it....

[alongpause]

this isnt a poem i guess but

the header of this blog is a screenshot from a snapchat by a girl i haven't spoken to in over 10 years

[alongpause]

you can still be

a neglected child as

an adult if enough

things go wrong

[alongpause]

in a million universes i keep becoming you.

this man has existed before.

this exact man has never existed before

i just wanted the chance to be made from adam's rib and see what all the fuss was about

i just wanted to see for myself what creation feels like

god took adam's rib to make eve, so adam wouldn't be lonely

a companion for all things who was different and the same, strange and yet familiar

if i can do that for myself, then why would anyone want to stop me?

if i can tear out the unneeded, unwanted parts of myself and make a new person who loves me, who is me, who can finally breathe in a way this one can not

would any fathomable god still be just if they stopped me? 

[alongpause]

picked last in dance class,

a friend and i, sharing our woes,

compared ourselves to dented cans of food,

picked over just for looking different

and then one day,

a beautiful boy walked in

the side of the class where the girls stood

was populated by whispering

as he talked to the other boys

you could see in the corner of his eyes

that he knew we were whispering

that he knew it was about him

i wondered if that happened everywhere he went

i wondered if every room parted in silence

to allow him to pass through

just so everyone could put their eyes on him

i wondered what it was like to be beautiful

when the boys were told to pick a dance partner

all the girls watched eagerly as he crossed the room

the closer he got to me,

the faster my heartbeat got

but i didn't dare to dream

i couldn't dare to dream

until his hand was on mine

and he chose me first for every dance that day

and i thought i was in heaven

my friends told me they were jealous

and i knew all the girls were jealous

his attendance to the class was spotty

and every week i held my breath, waiting for him to walk through the door

waiting to see who he would pick first

and it was me

it was always me

i think back to it and i wonder

i wonder why on earth

why me

i never let the idea grow in my heart

that he might have thought i was beautiful

that he might have, over all that dancing

and those tiny conversations

developed some kind of feelings for me

even now, i couldn't fathom that

so i just wonder,

what made someone do something so kind

for a stranger?

i wonder what he saw when he looked at me

i think he saw a shy girl

who had never been told that she was beautiful

and he wanted to make her feel better,

if he could

and he did

and he was so beautiful that it seemed like

the whole world was holding its breath

when he was around

i still wonder

if he was an angel

[alongpause]

for four years you were my soul

every moment of my existence was in dedication to you

and when we were severed it broke me

i mourned the loss of the self i was through you 

for no less than two years

perhaps it was more

and out on the other side, i can't remember it

i look at the things i wrote down

the only proof i existed then

and the memory that you and i were ever We

the memory of the hole inside me when we weren't

it's all so faded

there has been so much hurt since then

so much lonely, dead time

i don't remember being a person that long ago

like i came on the scene just last year

was it really so recent that I was still mourning us?

why can't i remember?

my heart aches that I can't remember loving you like that

that i can't remember being loved like that

even if it wasn't perfect

even if it wasn't forever

forgetting seems like saying it was insignificant

but it wasn't, it was everything and always

i thought i would carry that pain forever

i thought i would always feel the sting of how much i loved you

how it pierced me like an arrow

and you tore it out

did the wound really heal?

why can't i even find the scar? 

[alongpause]

I.

i will always, only ever be

your burdensome baby boy

your parenting completely reactionary

you are still flinching away from the trauma of your own mother

you say "i am better than she ever was"

like that means anything

like better equals best, or even good

when she set the bar so low to begin with 

the massive weight of her 

is still present in this house

so she could treat me like she treated you

this house you invited her into

and it keeps compounding

until i draw the line in the sand

the line that even you don't respect

like you think someday i will wise up

and shove a child under the bus you're driving

II.

i will always only ever be

your burdensome baby boy

we are sucking the life from each other

you never cut the umbilical cord

but you blame me for receiving anything from it

all i do is take take take from you

you never said it, but the way you act 

you never had to

nevermind all the things i give to you

children are supposed to give give give to their parents

children are there to take on, to unburden

children are meant to relieve

but to you i only inflict

i have absorbed so much toxicity for you and from you

but its all for nothing it doesnt matter

you're not supposed to be thankful for someone when theyre just fulfilling their purpose

your first child was the one you had to support

your second child was the one made to support you

and he doesn't work hard enough

does all he can for you but it will never be enough

because he wasn't strong enough to grow himself up right

he should have been able to suffer through on his own

because we are all suffering and life isn't fair

and he needed to know that more than anyone

because he had the fucking gall to want it to be fair

you had one child to love and one to love you

that first child can scream at you and spit in your eye and it will never matter because you love her, always love her, will always love her

the second child can give you everything he has but you have to turn him away because its not enough

tell him to come back when he has more

and you're so mad even though he loves you, always loves you, will always love you

[alongpause]

my body is me, but it's not me

my brain is me, but it's not me

if these things are not me, then what is?

but i feel so disconnected from these things

how can i be when they are all that i am?

my body is me, and my brain controls my body

who controls my brain?

is that what i am?

the thing that is the brain but somehow above the brain?

i am immaterial in this way and yet

i am all material, only material

i exist in the way everything exists

but i also exist in a nothingness, a concept

am i a soul? what is a soul?

is a soul something you earn by having a brain and a body?

godhead, three in one, brain, body, soul

and i am none of it 

i am all of it

i don't feel like i belong here

i don't feel in control

the things people see on my body

the person they think they know just by looking

that is not me

and so i am not a body

the things people presume to know about me

after speaking with me briefly

after hearing the triple filtered secretions of my brain

these are not me

the things that had to be filtered

things i loathe and cannot control

those are not me either

so i must not be a brain

so what the hell am i

and where do i live?

they call me old soul,

tell me a soul must be saved

a soul is what gets you into heaven

but i am not going to heaven

so what is my soul?

and where does that leave me?

[alongpause]

still living in my parents' home

i am a child except in all the tender ways

i am expected to sit quietly and obey

be seen and not heard

like a good child, a good kid

i have to reflect my parent's values

i have to surrender my agency to the sacred

parent/child relationship dynamic

be an extention of them,

be a tool for them to use

but when i cry, i cry alone

i, the child adult, an adult for the time i have spent on earth,

a child for the lack of proof: no job, no marriage, no one, nothing, i am no one, i am nothing

and showing joy or excitement, those shackles that bind to childhood

is disgusting to them, it's not proper

i am a kid when i try to act on my own, make a decision

i am met with patronizing statements blanketed in "I'm just worried about you"

when the bills come in, i squeeze blood from the stone myself

i live in this house, i am tied to the walls with IV tubing and bedsheets

i am part of the living, breathing viscera of the house

i am furniture and I will be in the house when it burns

my silent, motionless vigil as the fire eats my wood and cotton and plastic and heart and soul

I'm never getting out

[alongpause]

i think i don't realize

how fast, faster then slow, slower, slowest the time goes

because there is no one to talk to about it

the loniless wraps around me like a personal time machine

my leg muscles twitch and jerk and jump and skip

i want silk shirts on my skin

there is minty freshness in my heart

when did the time start to skip and jump and jerk

water is like the spring from heaven

so ice cold and flavorless delicious

and it's like that all the time, but i only notice now

in the singular pinhole moment

and it floats away and it's gone

and it never happened

and the time keeps changing

my fingers are numb on the ends in a way that feels like softness

like sherpa-lined gloves

i wonder if my blood is making it there

is the elevator that is my circular system

from my heart to my finger tips and my heart and my fingertips and my heart and my finger tips

i am the line in the book you keep rereading

as you fall asleep