The Feet

More journal entry than poem but it has a flow and I should post something.

February 28, 2011 / 5:19 pm

It starts below the sternum,
A pressure to succumb to
Rule of thumb. Words held in,
Vetoed before they can be
Logged and I am just limp
Grass blades, ready to be cut
Or ignored. Whatever your
Preference. An indifferent kind
Of feeling below the skin.
I was born a has been and don’t
Think you can plead the contrary.
The mirror shows me clearly.
Summer came and went,
I fell again and again. In and out.
Up and down. I repeat to myself
That I’ve been trying so hard.
The calling card of people who
Can’t handle it. Can’t deal with the
Realities or the eventualities of life
On the outside of a box decorated
By sin. When will this start to wear
Thin? I ask questions because
Answers are shards from a past
That doesn’t need remembrance.
It starts behind the ears, pinpoint
Pricks designed to stop gears that
Turn sluggishly at best. Have the rest.
Finger taps a signal to move on.

How many times have you moved?
He asked. My reply soft, opposite of
The emotion behind it: Too many.
I don’t go on to say anything.
There is nothing left. It starts above
The eyes and time-travels to an era
That finds me lost and leaves me
Lost. Lost. I am lost. Words do no
Justice. Empty shells. Disconnection
The only way to move from one day
To the next. I thought I knew bottom.

But it starts with the feet.

Reviews

[MAC]

i never had the words to describe my life or my vision of me until now...you nailed it. this piece feels like life to me and should be etched on my tomb-stone. you are a very talented person and it would seem that you are correct, how could somebody not like you.