Break-up

 Numbed mind

Feels little pain

Vacuum of emptiness

And rejection stings

Like a fish hook in the heart

Brutally ripped free.

The fight has been long; a half a century

Hooked, led, let-down lies

Wooden spoons and spit and abuse

Never good enough for anyone,

Not even myself

Some see beauty, they don’t see the sweatshop floor

Where long hours laboring

Without light; cramped knuckles, bruised from

Beating the walls of such a confined space.

This is where I have been produced and where I am deposited, worthless, every evening-

This has been my life; a product no one wants;

Like all things – disposable

Even my boot finds that single mound of shit

Upon which to tread within a vast field from man’s best friend;

Symbol for my life

Trying to see the beauty;

But everything lets me down;

Too many facts for this to be just self-pity

So why do I continue; persist – carry forward?

Because it’s all I know.

There isn’t a drag deep enough or a bottle with sufficient volume

To make me ok;

Chocking on them as I do platitudes and well-meant messages of:

Hang in there, you’re so great, look at all you have…

….to have…

I have material wealth and moderate health, save the PTSD

But our actions are our only possession;

Relationships and experiences are what truly bring life joy

And that is where my deprivation sits,

Smothering my mindful breaths.

My introvert mind;

Blinded and terror of shallow small talk

I need substance;

A life like a rich novel

Where is the evidence to love one’s self

When no one else seems to? Don’t they see

This brutal contradiction?

So much lip service and inspirational quotes that

Simply affirm your brokenness…

I wish I could adjust healthily to this profoundly sick society; but,

Like Krishnamurti says, that is not a measure of good health.

I don’t care. I want to be stupid and live blindly

Because being awake only leads

To greater disappointment

And unreachable dreams

…can’t afford to dream, can’t afford not to

So for now I just am. Let

The ocean

Take me on its ebb and flow;

Toss me through the current

To either drown or wash up on a distant shore

Well beyond the earth’s curve

Away from all and myself

To crave the peace of the drowning man,

But my body isn’t ready for that quite yet

The cuttings of my remains remain on the floor,

Hoping someone will collect my scraps and transform them into something joyful,

Loved and living;

My scraps are tattered yet rich.

In all things there lies potential;

Stitch me up, tattoo my story with the needle

And, just perhaps, a light will turn on and I

Will see Confucius’ message that

“Everything has its beauty, but not everyone see it”

It transformed the albatross laden Mariner

In Coleridge’s Rhyme,

But my albatross still weighs heavily on my neck

Dropping like lead into the sea not quite yet

As Life and Death roll the dice

And I remain to tell of this wretched tale.

Edmonton, AB, Canada