Hating Myself Never Felt So Good...

I don't want to admit it

I don't want to

have to

admit it

but I like myself better this way

I wish I didn't

but I do

I laugh more

so much more

both longer

and more often

same with the sex

almost the best it's ever been

and nothing like anything

we've seen or felt or been in years

every orgasm a god's kiss goodnight

I know I'm killing myself

but we are all going to die

someday

and what is the point in a long life

if it's a miserable slog the whole way?

I'll take a few years off the end

for a ten-fold increase in joy and pleasure

the rest of the time

any day

all day

all day long

There are a hundred other

little reasons

for hating myself for this

a hundred little setbacks

chipping away at my self-worth

but there could be a thousand and it still

wouldn't matter

they just don't add up

they just can't compare to

the ache in my face from laughing so hard

I can't breathe

the feel of her flesh under my hands

swallowing me

the look on her face when she comes

the tears in her eyes when she can't stop laughing at me

or the idiot smile

splitting my face like a knife wound

I wish I were wrong

but this just feels

too right

Let It Out...

The first

thing

The

very

first thing

that

You

ever did

was

scream

Why Are All Of My Poems Questions?...

What if I don't
feel anything
worth writing down?
What if I don't
see anything
that penetrates my eye
with beauty?
that infects my mind
with wonder?
What if
nothing happens
in my ordinary day
to inspire
or bewilder
or amuse?
or arouse
or confuse?
or infuriate
or frustrate
or fascinate?
What if it's just
a day?
just like the day before
and the day after
and I feel nothing
nothing worth saying
nothing worth feeling
out loud
no line to express
or wisdom to surmise
with cutesy-clever
patyourselfonthebackforthinkingofitaren'tyouspecial
twists of wordplay
Just a day
And what if I have
nothing to say?
I'll say it anyway

Twenty Questions Solitaire...

Do you remember

the last time

you said the words

"I

Love

you"

?

+          +          +

I don't

I don't remember

I don't remember
the last time
that I said
"I
Love
you"

I don't remember
when I said it
or to whom
or why

And now I can't escape this
rotting feeling
that this isn't a memory
we should ever out-grow
That this isn't a memory
we should ever out-live
That this isn't a memory
we should ever get
too far away from
Now that I realize it's gone
I feel adrift and lost without it
like a greenhorn just realizing
he's lost sight of shore
for the first time

The sudden realization
that I couldn't remember
that I've lost this memory
that it must've been so long
since I last said it
to anyone
for any reason
that I've lost it completely
sits so alien and unreal in me
That I could've ever lost something
so important
something
that has always just
been there
before
something
that should just be a backdrop
to the rest of my life
now gone
and I didn't even notice it
didn't miss it at all
until now
It's as if I suddenly realized
one wall of my house was missing
exposing us
letting in the whether
and I can't even remember
when it happened

And this is all only preamble
just the lead-in
to the real question
Why?
Why can't I remember?
Why have I forgotten?
Why has it been so long since I last said it?
Why haven't I said it?
Why did I ever stop?

What am I waiting for?

Title...

I am too tired to be inspired right now.

I swear, that rhyme was unintentional.

This is not a poem.

One Down, Forever To Go...

gotta write
can't write
no time
gotta work
can't stop
too much to do
i can feel it
building up
hard up
hard time
hard line
hard night
coiled wire muscles
stretched tight twang
reverb spinal twitch
sets one eyelid going off
fluttering to start a hurricane
and the whole of it unravels
unless
i can get it out
get it out
get it all out of me
and onto paper
into screen
out to hivemind
out of me
out of me
out of me
one fibrous thread of
twisted steel at a time
all i need
is just a little more time
and a little room to bleed

This Should've Been A Tweet...

I'm so tired, I'm actually dizzy.  Looking forward to the baths tomorrow more than I ever have before.  Need to relax feels like a matter of survival at this point.

OUTTATIME...

I have to face the music.  The only way this work is going to get done anywhere even close to on-time, is if I start working 10-12 hour days.  That's just a fact.  An unfortunate fact.  There's just too much work to do, and nowhere near enough time.  So I'm just going to have to man the fuck up and do what needs to be done.

But, I'm already so tired.

Gibbering...

I spit words

I do not mean to say that
in the street, beat, hip-hop sense
I do not mean that
I spit hot rhymes
I mean

I spit words

they explode from me
suddenly
violently
And they are painful

And I cannot control them

Henry Jones, Blurble...

I have some ideas, and some things half-written, but no time to flesh anything out today.  I have more work to do right now than I can possibly handle.  And all of it is due "yesterday."  I have a work task that I'm supposed to have finished by today, and with every hour that passes that looks less and less likely to actually happen.  And if (when) I don't finish this one today, that will also push back every other task I'm supposed to be working on right now.

tl;dr - No time for love, Dr. Jones.

Lay Down Your Weary Head...

morning commute

hot sun, cool breeze
on the highway
beating down, blowing along

pair of raccoons
on the side of the road
dead
together

together
clearly from the same pack
mating for life

together
laying down
side-by-side
in the same position
facing the same direction
mirror images
drying in the sun

together

siblings?

or lovers?

in the dirt
on the side of the road

"Why?"...

on some level
it's about control
and i'm sorry about that
insecurity
always is

You are the other half of me
as i am the other half of You
and so if there's something
about You
or something You do
that i do not understand
then i'm not understanding myself
i'm unsure of myself
i'm the definition of
insecure

the Thing
whatever it is
the particular Thing
that i have failed to understand
about You
about me
is completely
and absolutely
irrelevant
what matters
what's important
is that

I

Don't

Understand

everything else
is just window dressing  

i need to understand
in order to feel secure
in order to maintain the comfortable illusion
that i have some control over my life
over myself
that I have some understanding of
who i am
where i am
what i'm doing
what the fuck is going on 

so when i'm threatened
by my own confusion
i make inquiries
i ask questions
i try to understand
desperately 
urgently
crucially
i have to try
i have to

and besides
there's no harm in asking
is there?

Just The Two Of Us...

itch scratch itch
in my arm above the bicep
where my wedding ring is tattooed under my skin
find an overly large protrusion
never noticed
shouldn't be there
where'd it come from
push pull pinch the flesh
work it out
no pain
pleasant release of pressure as the skin
tears
rips
bleeds
drips
reveals
yellow-white tube
jutting now from the wound
and then it moves
writhes
twists
wiggles
in my flesh
turns black eyes to mine
pleading innocence
to be left alone
to continue consuming me
inside
where it's dark and warm

it Loves me
i know
because it lives inside
my wedding ring

Air...

it's stupidly sentimental but

I always feel a little sad when

it comes time to

shut the windows

for the year and

turn on the A/C

or the Heat

and start breathing our

electrically-modulated air

I feel as if I've

only just started to

work my way back out

into the world and

I'm not ready

I'm not ready yet to

go back inside

and breathe my own

rotten recycled breath

the breath of my city is

so much more

so much more delightful

so much more invigorating

so much more intoxicating

so much more

than me

I feel slightly lost and

alone when

this life requires that I

wall myself off from that

World breath

to hibernate through

our hot and cold winds

I'm not ready yet

I'm never ready

I'm still trying to find my way

out

Half In The Whole...

please let this be
the bottom
and not some lost ledge
abandoned out of sight in the depths
beyond the light
holding me up to
the false hope of
an easy climb back
to the top
to stable grounds
and effortless ability

please let this be
the bottom
the real bottom
because
I don't think
my bones
could take another
fall

Bad News Beers...

I am definitely drinking too much.

I'm not entirely surprised, or overly concerned, by this.  It's to be expected that after abstaining for a year, I would revel a bit in the new found freedom to drink again.  It's new and shiny and fun and I want it all right now!  And I also expected it to take me a while to learn the ropes again; we have to fuck up in order to learn how to do something right.

But, still, I'm definitely drinking too much.  And I need to calm down.  Now.

I need to remember that I can't just drink as much as I want, whenever I want.  I could die that way.  And if I keep it up, I will die that way.

Wake up, motherfucker.

Blah Blurble...

I really want to write something to post here.  I have a lot to say right now.  But I don't particularly feel like saying any of it.  And I'm so busy right now, overwhelmed with so much work, that I can't even find the time to keep up with my email, much less write something.  And because of all the work, when I'm home, I'm just desperately trying to relax (largely without success), and don't have the energy to express things I need to express but don't really want to express.

That little slice of nothing is all I have time for right now.  And I feel guilty for taking the time to write even that much.  (Which is ironic, because the only reason I wrote it at all is to respond to the feeling of guilt I had over not posting.)

Having My Favorite Way With You...

when I reminisce about

our Yesterdays

the recollections that stand out

above all the rest

as the most important

the remembrances that call to me

louder than all the others

to retain my attention again

and again

the memories that are painted

in the most vivid colors

to recall my mind's eye

repeatedly

and inexorably

are always of those times

when I've made you

Laugh

like that

just like that

the laugh I love the most

where it seems to almost

burst out of you

as if you couldn't hold it in

even if you'd wanted to

where your eyes crinkle up

the way they do when you're about

to cry

and your blood rushes to your face

rushes to greet me

and you become my favorite

shade of pink

just like that

you're at your most beautiful

how many times now

have I made you

lose control

this way?

made your body rebel

against your will

made you shake

in uncontrollable

ecstasy

that left you sore

and gasping for breath?

Not nearly enough

for of all the ways

I can please you

pleasure you

for of the whole range of choices

I have at my disposal

to make you shudder

in uncontainable joy

there is not one that returns to me

half as much delight

nor conveys half as much

of my desire

nor expresses half as much

of my love

as does the Gift

of getting to hear you laugh

at me

until you are entirely

spent

Everything I Write Is Narcissistic Crap...

I'm hiding here
in this space where
I keep brutally exposing myself
I'm not really My self
I wear masks
and pseudonyms
and there's certain things I can't say
won't say
because I'm afraid of who will read them
and what they might learn about me
And sometimes I feel that makes
all of this
pointless
I am torn between two
equally important desires
I need to be raw here
I need to be violently open
I need to feel free to express
whatever I am feeling
for no other reason than the simple fact that
I am feeling
But I am also afraid
of the reactions I might get
afraid I might hurt someone
afraid of someone I know
learning something about me
that I don't want them to know
afraid they'll use it to hurt me somehow
I need to be wide open
but can only do it behind the safety of a mask
and even that isn't good enough
I still constantly self-censor
I have pages and pages of writings that no one
but me
has ever seen
will ever see
Even now
as I write this
I can't help but wonder at the reactions
I might get
from people I know
in real life
or people I know
in the wire
or people I've
never met
and that wondering changes me
changes my feelings
makes me second-guess
what I'm going to say
The only way my art can ever be
absolutely true
absolutely honest
absolutely Me
is if no one ever reads it
But what good is Expression
without Witness?
I need to have
an audience of strangers
for each poem
total strangers
that I will never have to see again
Or I should tag my poems on walls around town
in the middle of the night
like my little brother
(oh, gods, what if he reads this??!)

Fuck you
I'm leaving it in

Faced...

I don't know what to look like anymore.

My hair doesn't match my beard.  And neither match my general appearance as a middle-aged boy in tee-shirt and sneakers.  My outward "look" has become a mish-mash of favorite pieces culled from various looks I've worn over the years, plus some things I've just made up, all stitched back together like a patchwork riot.

I don't know what to do about this.  Or if I should even do anything.  It's just something I noticed this morning, and felt I should share.  (And it was short.  I don't have time to write out any of the other, more important things I have to share, because they are complicated and involved and I am stupid fucking busy right now.  [Like, literally, stupid-busy.  My busy-ness is directly related to the stupidity of others.])

I guess this situation bothers me, now that I've noticed it.  But I'm not quite sure how, exactly.  Or why.  I think perhaps because it was apparently accidental, and I hadn't noticed it before.  Like, I have absolutely no problem going out in public looking like a complete dork.  I've done it many times.  But in each of those instances, that's what I was going for.  In this situation, on the other hand, I don't really know how I look at all.  I've been concentrating on the individual elements so closely that I've lost sight of the overall picture of how they all fit together.  And I found it disconcerting to suddenly realize, "Oh, shit!  How did I end up looking like this??  Does it look good or not?  Fuck, I can't even tell anymore!  And I have no idea what else I would rather do instead."

Wah, wah; boo hoo.  Whatever.  Again, not a major problem, but just something I noticed and felt like writing down.