Poem: Beware

Beware of lonely people,
they are that way for a reason.

Beware of those who offer you large gifts,
when first you meet.
They lack something vital
and try to compensate
with worldly illusions.

Beware of them who say,
"I want nothing from you."
They are being dishonest.
Whether to themselves or to you,
it makes no difference.

The bad masquerades as good,
and the good are sometimes felled
beneath this slim mockery of wealth.

Poem: Old Emails

Emotions expressed in days far gone,
documented by emails
long since forgot.
Strikes terror in the stomach;
a cramping suck of shame.
Feelings bent and mangled
poured out through prisms
of whiskey and weed.
Out through my fingers
to keyboard
to wires
to your eyes.
Birthed as stunted
mutant
children.
Withered and sick
dead before fruition
cold and misunderstood
by all.
It was the only way known.
A frustrated
angry
robot.
Ejecting components
which did not fit
inside.

I was doing my best at the time.

Poem: After the fall

I laughed at the wind,
falling down to scrape both knees.
Not my lowest,
but pain knows
no comparison.
I watched the swan people gather;
ugly as roast lamb.
Oh how I aimed to be one.
When the sun finally rose
I was amazed to see
it's balance.
How simple peace is
when all it takes
is nothing.

Poem: Nothing to All

From nothing to all,
the change happens fast.
There are those who
I "owe" time to.
There are those who
I wish to spend time with.
The change happens fast.
Prioritize according to my heart
and not what my mind says.
Breathing in new air
I exhale that which is old.
It once was new too.
Pushing ever forward,
lost in the swirling river,
so many hands reach out for me,
to pick and choose is wise.

Poem: Stop It

Is that her?
Stop it.
I know she's nearby,
I can feel her.
Stop it,
You're doing it again.
Why am I still thinking about her?
How long has it been
since I've seen her?
Why do I do this
to myself?
I have no idea
what she is like
anymore.
Time must have changed her,
as much as it has changed me.
I'm in love with a memory,
an illusion,
it's not real.
I want to see her.
Stop it!
This must be my destructive impulse;
searching madly for a way to destroy me.
That's how it works,
you know,
the evil inside
will use any tool
to make me miserable.
Does she still think of me?
Stop it.
I haven't really loved again,
she was my last.
I've had lovers, yes.
Some of them quite deep
and wonderful.
But never like her.
Never with every fiber
of my being
and to Hell with the world.
Never again perhaps.
Stop it...
Please?

Poem: Love Dwells

I seem to like to dwell on Love,
or some image I make thereof.
On creatures from my distant past,
although most popular's the last-
"I wonder will she write to me"
and
"Happy with him, that just can't be!"
I'll feel all sad and play the blues,
pondering what I did to lose.
Write long letters to she-who's-gone,
sing about her in a song.
This the game my heart repeats,
until a new love does compete.
Though I do still think of old one's,
my firing pins decend on cold guns.
Why I must repeat this game,
is a quest which wracks my brain.
For nothing that I do or say,
will bring to me old loves today.

Maybe I just like to hurt,
crying over some old skirt.
Maybe I am fooling me,
about the way things really be.
But no matter, here I sit,
wishing I were past this shit.

Poem: Maturity

There was a time
when all I'd need
was a shot
of bar whiskey.

I'd take one shot
and all'd be fine
erasing all the
bad from my mind.

Then a little
time would pass
and one more
would be a gas.

Later too
I'd have another
and buy one
for my bar brother

For some time
this worked out fine
drinking down
all woes of mine

Eventually the times
did change

then no amount
could rearange

the pain and worry
of my life

the problems grew
and soon were rife

but no matter
how I tried

the only one
I could confide

the painful worries
of my think

was the glass
from which
I'd drink

And so I turned
to friends more hardy
drugs the kind
not found at parties

and they worked
but not forever
thus I found
I was not clever

Naked, freezing
cold in jail
with no friend
to make my bail

And while my schoolmates learned to be
I was learning how to flee

so now that I am finally sober
it's mine to learn to live all over

All the skills I learned
from the glass
from the needles
and smoking grass

these are tools
I now worthless
and I'm finding
mostly mirthless

though forever I'll persist
until my sadness will desist

Until I learn to love quite freely
until I find myself appealing

For I've learned it's all inside
and there is no place to hide

for every moment I repress
will one day demand redress

and though I used to put it off
I know the truth now; Nothing's Lost

To deal with everything I am
is the job of this one man

and though the many may drink to live
I find my purpose is to give

to the people who like me
feel compeled to only flee

and if I help just one other
I will have earned

the title
of "Brother."

Poem: Reversal

Ah!
I see now, the truth, my dear;
It is you, does not want, to be friends.
For reasons unknown
you have tried your very best
to push
that decision
on me.
But to find
that I'll take you,
any which way,
is the last note you sang
to me.
And now that I know
you wish not be near me,
I find
that I still
wish you here.
I admit I don't know
what it means to be friends
ask any
who've known me
for long.
To you
friends with me
would be wrong
so you flew to your friends
Birthday Party
when I'd opened
my soul
to you.
I told you I had nothing
just only my heart
now your silence
is leaving
me blue.

Poem/Rant: Stupid Helpers

The incompentance of those
who are supposed to take care
of the incompetant
is staggering in it's majesty.
Palpably passing the
proverbial puck
back and forth like
hockey players
gunning for a cup,
but this puck is a person
who pricks when he bleeds
and in passing
some die
never making it to the next
hop-skip or jump.

Not that those
who are supposed to take care
of the competant
do much better
but the competant have options
not available
to the lesser class of Animals.

Lowly lieing Liers!
Sending us to and fro
like so many
stupid beast of the field
with lashings and brandings in tow.
"No one cares about you, my son,
though we all pretend in out way.
You're better off marching yourself to death,
than beleiving a word that we say."

Poem: She's Gone

She responded to my question.
her answer was
"Yes, you and I are not lovers anymore.
I have returned to my former abuser."

Pain clenches my heart
as tears rise to my eyes.
But it is not as bad
as I thought it would be.

Partly sad for me,
partly sad for her,
sadness for her the greater part.
I think.

Like watching friends overdose
or sink into alcoholism;
I hate to see the ones I love
hurt themselves.

The sad and weighty fact
is that
I have no control
over the actions
of others,
no matter how much
I love them.

If she had chosen someone
besides her
former abuser
it would have been
easier for me,
but again
I have no power here.

"It may have been different
if you had stayed,"
she writes.
But I was headed for Hell
and staying was not an option.

I could fight for her,
but I wont.

The sad fact
is that
she was probably drawn to me
by the Abuser within me;
The dark, drooling,
Monster,
I constantly hide and fight
to keep at bay.
And my Monster hates it
when another monster
steals it's pray.

She says
"I hope we can still
be friends."

Which is what they always say.

Haiku: Cycles

I have lived before
Breathing deeply is not easy
All story-tellers repeat their stories.

Haiku: Writing

I write these words down
I don't know what else to do
thank god for writing.

Haiku: Free Dinner

He buys me dinner
there is no sex involved
I practice humility

Haiku: Dinner Party

I sit with people
they talk around me with glee
I write in my book.

Haiku: K

I want to meet with you
your email confuses
are we still lovers?

Poem: Morning Pain

You don't want to wake up,
but there is a burning
aching
pain
in your spine.

It's the same pain
you wake up with
every morning,
but this day
it happens to be worse
than usual.

You really want
to keep sleeping
and you ignore it
for as long as you can,
but eventually it just
too much
and you agrilly get out of bed
and take some pills.

Two pekesettes
four cups of coffee
three cigarrettes
and twenty minutes later
you are finally feeling like
you suppose
a normal person
usually feels like
and you are ready
to start your day.

You want to take another pill,
"to make up for lost time"
but you don't,
waiting instead
for the pain to return again.
And of course it does,
it always does.
And these days
it seems to be getting worse.
Then hours pass
and you wait with anxiety
for the next spike
of pain...
but it doesn't come on time.

You have no idea why
or what makes it better or worse,
but that is not worth thinking about.

There is still laundry to do.

Poem: Rehab Again

"Oh you're in rehab again..."
They say with sadness is their eyes.
Pitying my inability to live
a life like theirs,
wishing with good hearts
that I could be "average."

Although I feel a vague sort of
painful shame
at the fact,
I'm also not sure
that I have anything
to be ashamed of.

How does one quantify
the worth of a life?
Would I have been happier,
or even able,
to have lived a planned life,
with college and marriage and kids?

I think not.

It seems I am meant for this life,
for reasons yet unclear to me.
Who could count the good that I do
simply by hanging around?
A smile, a wink, a kind word;
These are of infinite value.

There is no profit
in wishing for impossibility.
Better love my life as it is
and leave the comparrison
to others.

Poem: The Value of Friendship

What friends are friends?
I cannot know.
Those that you make in prison
are not
on the outside.
Those you make while drunk
are not
while sober.
Those you make while rich
are not
while poor.
I'm scared the sad fact is that
when it comes down to it;
All friends are a convenience
of the moment.
Scared I say
because I have always prayed
thought
and felt
that it was otherwise.

I remember finding my father's coin jar
as a child
in his closet
with my best friend at my side.
I split the coins with him
fifty-fifty
it seemed only fair.
My father was very upset.
I couldn't understand why.
We were rich
and my best friend was poor;
to me the money meant nothing
our friendship everything.
Years later he stole from me.
For him the money was important.

As I age my
unbridled love
and naivete
has burned me
more than once.
My dearest wish is that
everyone loved
as deep and true as I.

But they don't.
They wont.
They can't.

The only one's who have come close
are the destitute
and the homosexual.
Perhaps because they know
what it is like
to be truly alone.

This may be the reason
for coupling,
a lover,
a marriage even.
We all want to trust someone
totally,
sharing everything we have.
But friends cannot be trusted
without the bonding power of sex
to keep them in love.

There are good people, yes.
There is compassion,
charity,
selflessness,
and help.

But all of it is fleeting
and then it's
just me,
and God,
again.

Poem: Younger

I meet you and you're wonderful.
I could say more, but wont.
Impressive and smart,
pretty and young:
Many things
which I hold dear.
You shine in my mind
for hours after.
"Unhealthy," I wonder?
But put it aside.
Because
I can use
the distraction.
Before too long
I begin to imagine
a kiss, a walk, with you.
Catching myself, I stop
and I wonder;
"Why not just be friends?"
Is there something
depraved
in my active libido?
Does it stop me
or you
from excelling?
I cannot know,
but at least I'm on guard,
and I'll take it all
moment to moment.

Poem: Questions

Where are you now, my dear?
Do you still feel for me?

Your absence makes me ache.
It always did.
But then I was far away.

Did you let me go forever
when I left?

I wouldn't blame you.

Are you afraid of risking the pain of departure
again?
Is this all in my mind?
Am I imagining you now
as someone you never were?
Maybe I am just being selfish,
thinking only of myself?

I do not want to harm you again.

Do you think of me,
as deeply,
as often,
as I do you?

For your sake
I hope not.