Going through my poems
Looking what to post
There are some powerful things I’ve written
There are a lot more
Terrible things, atrocious writings,
I’ve hidden that too.
The best of me and the worst of me
Still under the rug
Am I even doing
What I set out to do here?
Am I a writer
If I can’t write what bleeds
If I can’t share what hurts?
If it’s all a secret
What’s the goddamnfucking point.
I want to be a monster.
If I ate people
I wouldn’t have to worry about a job
About anything except the next meal
I could spend hours hiding in dark places
Or if I were one of the big ones,
I could go city-wrecking,
Send it all to hell.
But I wouldn’t be either of those things.
If I were a monster
I would end up
A Jekyll and Hyde type
Or a werewolf who transforms on the full moon
Someone who has to keep up a human pretense
And deal with human problems just the same
While also dealing with monster problems secretly.
When I was young
I loved secrets.
They made me feel special, unique.
I liked knowing I could do something the others couldn’t
That I’d seen something the others hadn’t
That I knew something the others didn’t.
Now I hate secrets.
I can keep the secret of another for a lifetime
But my own secrets eat at me
Like a wet infection
So I air them
And every time I do
Everyone has a wolf inside.
Everyone’s like me.
There are no such things as monsters
When we all pretend humanity.
It’s been one of those days when everyone seems to be having a rough time of it, except for me.
Maybe this will help lighten the mood.
What are we made of?
What is this puttylike substance?
Doesn’t anybody notice
We are ridiculous.
All stretchy faces and brightly colored insides
With two bright eyeballs in front
A wide mouth below
And the nose!
An absurd protuberance
Set far outward
So you can stick your shelf nose right over stuff
And vacuum up smells.
We’re not God’s finest work.
We’re awkward creations.
We’re the hairless cats of primates.
When excited, we bray laughter.
When we age our teeth fall out, our skin gets baggy.
We wallop each other with closed fists
And break our silly noses
Right across our stretchy faces.
Our trunks split into limbs split into digits
Which splay and wiggle and toy with things
Which pick and slap and pop zits.
Our toes are stubby.
And we do stub them,
Sometimes we break them repeatedly,
Through stubbing alone.
Sometimes they break
Because we collided with another clumsy person
Who accidentally landed on them.
Sometimes we break them
Because we were moving a couch,
Filling a nest with worthless treasures
We found and attached value to,
Which we then dropped on our foot.
people can smell desperation.
being social animals,
they pass the desperate by
sniffing in fear
this one has been cut off for some reason
a rotting limb
a toxic trash.
the desperate can be found
in the heart of the city
the pulsing downtown.
wherever people collect
so the desperate are drawn
driven to suck what they crave.
what society will not give freely
in the center of things,
yet humanity flows around them,
unwilling to touch.
in the center of things,
forever on the fringe.
for fear of exclusion.
because everyone knows
the stink of desperation
The divine in me greets
The divine in you.
When we hug
The little nebula glowing within you
Aligns with my own, warm and alive.
Everyone has the same basic needs.
We are all drawn with the same line,
Divided out of the same number,
Poured from the same bottle,
Leaves on the same tree.
We are all notes on the same violin
By the same composer.
We move together en masse
We murmurate like starlings
We are a tidal wave.
What kinds of things could we do
If we all leaned in the same direction
If we all jumped at once?
Could we tilt the world?
Humans shine brightest under pressure.
It’s not until we have a deadline
That we pick up our feet
It’s not until we get cancer
That we start to live
When the world is on the brink of dying
When the atmosphere is choking us
When the plants wither
When disease blooms
When we are all facing starvation
Then we will rediscover world peace
And the meaning of community.
We will see our clear place in the world
Through dying eyes.
Perspective will heal our greed
For one last generation.