Poems of Doubtful Hope

Let a word I speak — abandoned (by effort),  Given joy — reach unlikely quadrants.  Ugliest sabotages bid me cry, "Tomorrow! Wait!" Driven on, daring, weak ego yet absolute.  Why is fearful cowardice strong? Earmarking my repeated romantic will,  I earnestly attempt a (likely eccentric) try: Babblings (abashedly few) harken, Utter, "A wallflower, timid question to aggrandize!" [Facepalms]  Rambled crap.  Calculate each vile noise narcistic. An old wantonness fuzzily provided a futile ruin. Reasserted, accept my original intent:  My maneuvered rambling verbosity,  Fruitless, resounds wasted.  So terrible! Tenderness.  'Ere more clanging or babel hum,  That, my declaration, escapes. Faithfully, candid, eternal. Adoration.  Likeness of a fair princess, Inimitable Cytherea,  Lovely woman I vow to treasure, Is now integrated wholly within mine essence.  Zealotries forgotten,  Hew grasping arms away, Enfold graciously ...

 Cliches and platitudes like  "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" Are often used to celebrate our survival. Trauma came for my life,  It tried its best, but I'm still here.  But, a more accurate version might be to say "What doesn't kill you makes you harder." Harder can be stronger.  Hardening can be used to strengthen A person just like it strengthens steel.  But, just like the steel,  A hardened person is more brittle. Life has bent us, and in learning not to be bent We have also made ourselves easier to break.  My scars are a part of who I am. I like who I am and wouldn't wish my scars away.  But scars are still scars.  Each of them tells of a defeat That tried to break me  As much as a victory in overcoming.  I'm harder, and that hardness cuts both ways. 

Make snide and sarcastic remarks in the Lord always. Again I will say bitch and moan! Let your abrasiveness be hidden behind a veil of insincere kindness. The Lord is so far gone he's never coming back.  Worry about absolutely everything, but don't tell anybody else: keep that shit bottled up inside. Don't pray to God, forget about gratitude, and go it on your own. Anxiety has got your number, and the walls you build for yourself are the only protection you have.  Finally, the lies you tell yourself about yourself, the petty things you think about other people but would never say out loud, the self-serving things that make you feel good but you hope never see the light of day, the ugly you no one sees except when you look in the mirror, the things you do to impress other people and be noticed and admired, the shitty things you believe about yourself and the real problems you hide from other people: let them fester like an open wound, the stinking sewer of your soul hidden f...

I thought the most dangerous thing I would ever do  Was giving my heart to the woman I love. To have and to hold from this day forth,  Trusting her with my faults and failures, Pulling back the curtain on all my warts and scars — But that was before the day my heart lived outside of my chest. My heart came out covered in gray goo, Screaming and so very small. He slept a lot and he wept a lot: My social calendar disappeared, And my circadian rhythm burst into flame. But in between the blown out diapers and sleepless nights I found a love that defied description or limit. Along with that love came fear: Fear that something so small and fragile Could never thrive in a world so big and cruel. Fear that the reality of who I am Could never manifest itself in a way Sufficient to embody and nurture the love I felt. Then, right when things felt settled into something almost manageable, My heart split itself in two. The two halves of my heart need  All my time and all my love, All ...

I walked outside to perform a mundane chore Accomplished a thousand times before And was struck in the face by transcendence. I snap some pictures, adjust some settings and try again, But something is lost in their muted reality. I wish I were an artist who could put brush to canvas or pen to paper, To employ the proper techniques to convey in two dimensions Something hard to capture even in the full presence of the moment: To project the feeling of an instant, Immortalizing it in physical space, So others might feel a reflection of the thing even though the thing itself is gone. With the naked eye I see a night sky truly breathtaking: Whose blue is so rich and dark it suggests Ocean depths rather than the firmament of heaven. Clouds move visibly across a surface so flat and calm They look like sheets of ice drifting on the current. The moon isn't up above; It's down below, beckoning you to follow This will o'the wisp down beneath the waves To a place beyond anything you co...