Poems of Doubtful Hope

My stomach is twisted up in knots Because of the people who God doesn't hate. It feels unjust, it seems ill-advised That I should have to wait For them to be humbled and brought low,  Condemned to their awful fate: But that's not happening where I think it should  To the people who God doesn't hate.  My secret rage, it burns against The people that God doesn't hate.  I want them to suffer, I want them to pay;  With interest, an exorbitant rate! But God refuses to comply No matter how much I shout and cry Ignoring my plaintive pleas of why About the people who God doesn't hate.  If I were honest with myself I'm someone's person who God doesn't hate.  And in the end I trust the plan Of the one who holds our fate.  But that doesn't mean that I don't struggle To love and appreciate All the people who God loves That I would rather hate. 

I talk to people all day long About finding meaning in the midst of chaos.  How to untangle the twists and turns of circumstance And find some hope in the meaning There beneath the surface.  But I've forgotten how to hope for myself.  I've lost the breadcrumbs leading the way back,  Or else I've given them all away to others.  It all feels so hollow and empty.  I can't even muster any outrage.  I just rattle around this fucking husk of an existence, Wondering if maybe someday Things will turn out the way you said they would.  When are you going to punish the wicked? Because all I see is those fuckers thriving.  When are you going to rescue the needy? Kids in cages, starving behind blockades, Immigrants harassed by hateful howler monkeys In bright red hats.  But the worst of all is how hard it is  To keep caring when my brain Just wants to coast on autopilot.  I don't have the energy to keep being outraged.  I don't have th...

I'm pushing and panting, Sweat rolling down my back Like the world's most disgusting waterfall.  My muscles are cramping up. My arms start to shake; My hands start to slip.  Only a few more feet to go Until I'm at the top of this godforsaken rock.  I step on something sharp,  My foot starts bleeding,  And I'm slipping in a widening pool of red.  I give it one last shove,  But I push too hard;  The rock goes up and over,  Starting to roll back down the opposite side.  I lunge for it, as if this effort Has the potential to end another way Than one of my countless previous failures.  My hand slips off as the rock rolls away And I land hard on my face.  I think my nose is broken;  It sure as hell is bruised.  I lay here for a minute.  I think about screaming,  Shouting obscenities at the sky On the off chance anyone is bothering to listen.  I think about giving up; Instead, I stand back up.  I trudge ...

We've offered rewards, We've leveled threats. We've bought special underwear And hedge our bets. We've made up lyrics to songs That were never about poop or pee: All while arguing  With a tiny version of you and me. We KNOW he can do it; We've seen it before. But we still wind up cleaning Urine off the floor And washing underwear  Ten times a day; A game we can't seem to win But still have to play. Poopy pull-ups and Bluey potties, Spider-Man underwear and jelly beans. Laundry piles up and dishes, too: All our energy spent waiting on you To push the pee-pee out And keep your undies dry. Chasing the promise  Of no more diapers changes; We'll miss it all later In our rose-colored glasses.

Things spinning faster and faster Like a tornado tearing its way up I-40 And you yell out to someone, anyone,  But it all comes crashing down And like a house of cards The bottom drops out from underneath you.  The chaos is out,  And there's no way to force it back in the jar.  Violence in the streets,  Violence in our hearts,  Indifference to the suffering of others And rejoicing over the suffering of those we want to other Innocence is gone,  And the wizard is out from behind the curtain And the emperor is not only visibly nude But covered in weeping sores and mottled bruises.  The people who believe in the good are noticeably silent While the people who embrace the worst in us and encourage us to do the same Are sure of nothing more than their own righteous justice.  I don't put much stock in prophecy or end-times doomsayers, But things feel like they're getting downright biblical.  A revelation feels overdue,  But the things tha...

I find myself An increasingly fragile And splinter-covered crutch.  You can lean on me,  But not too hard,  Lest I collapse beneath the pressure.  I've tried to sand down the rough edges,  But the splinters keep showing up From somewhere unbeknownst to me.  I've tried to reinforce my support system,  But I'm still wobbling Anytime any serious weight Threatens to require my bolstering.  I feel like salt that's lost its saltiness.  I feel like a lamp,  Dim and flickering,  Hidden beneath a bushel While holding a flashlight,  Lying to try and convince other people The flame is still burning bright.  I am poor in spirit, but I do not feel blessed.  I am mourning (mostly my former self) But I feel no comfort.  I am meek, but I don't think I'd want the world Even if you handed it to me on a silver platter.  I am hungry and thirsty for righteousness,  But I don't remember the last time I felt full.  I tr...

Some days you're so numb  And so desperate to feel something ANYTHING You wish it would hurt like it used to. You abuse yourself, Indulge your worst instincts and impulses All in the hopes of dragging something ANYTHING  Out of the depths of your cold, dead heart. But nothing comes out. You scream into the void  Only to be met with a silence so deafening That it leaves your ears ringing. Then it hurts. Not in a tangible way That might give you hope  That something like normalcy is possible for you. But in a blinding, all-consuming heat So hot all you feel is cold  As your emotions go into shock And your systems shut down from overload.