What’s that holding me back?

excuse the limp.
it’s kind of my fault.
well actually,
it’s the fault of my body.
i was mentally prepared for
what my body needed to experience.
choice has left me feeling
disoriented and outstretched.
air filled fists thrashing futility,
doubt becomes foundation.
adapt to the ever-changing sameness.

Transitory thank you

No, this isn’t personalized, but regard the following sentiments as heartfelt, although never publicly affirmed. Surprise at your passing like or indifferent follow, I shy away from such actions as my virtual peers. This shyness is a euphemism for fear, one based in deadlock reason. Logic permits my fears, regardless how irrational. Take it as, “being irrationally logical.” So for all people to don me attention, I’m appreciative your your action and apologize to you for not returning continuation. I think myself fear, and there it is. The foundation has remained, supporting an adapting aesthetic geared in perpetuation of something misunderstood. We all see dots, it’s in how we connect them that constellations are made. Thanks again for your time. There’s only so much validation one can receive from conceptually stagnate family. It takes an idiot to call an idiot. I call idiot on myself.

I wish i had pulled myself instead

i’ve never pulled a muscle.
at least not one of my own.
never mind, i do pull my own
muscle every few days.
but in this instance,
there is no pleasure to be had.
during a soccer match
i sprinted towards a ball
that headed to goal.
my left quadriceps suddenly
seized up, burning with a knot.
so what if i’ll be limping
for sometime to come,
at least i didn’t tear it.
either way,
i still have to work.

Big soak for small umbrella

i feel more comfortable in the dark.
where as the light illuminates,
the dark hides.
people, for the most part,
are asleep.
this gives me a sense of security.
cloaked by night,
my abnormality awakens.
of course, it might just be
my judgement that is abnormal.
i look like you,
i behave like you,
i think like you.
a normal umbrella does not
give full coverage.
for the most part,
we are covered.
the rest is drenched.

Death marks beauty

is death taboo?
should it be taboo?
it hasn’t been until i’ve aged
that death has been a topical subject.
we gloss over it.
we’re not to dwell on it.
but why not?
is it not a natural part of existence?
should we not teach what we grow
of its inexorable demise?
why not teach a acceptance
of ones own end,
instead of cushioning it with poesy?
buying into the notion of
slowing degeneration,
we’ve allowed a lie.
we see the inevitable
but we powder away it’s
unequivocal presence.
it’s only when we wash our face
that we see truly what we are.