On Being Square

You thought you had me down-

Squarely pegged in your round hole-

Always failed to fit your mold-

Hid my face and sold my soul.

 

You thought you knew my lines-

Formed words to fill my silence-

Merely filling up your mind-

Fitting me in your fence.

 

A square is bound by rules-

Of perfect symmetry-

Enslaved by strict dimensions-

Limited by simplicity.

 

Perfect angles with straight lines-

I’m a master of disguise-

Carefully hidden from your view-

This great divide where I reside.

 

A tangled mess- an irregular form-

Shifting and pushing against the norm-

You keep your hole- it’s too uniform-

Hold what you know- while I transform!

Im/perfect Mask

You always say your fine,

You give the same old line.

Wearing a perfect mask,

You hide when others ask.

Inside emotions boil,

Your mind infertile soil

With weeds and rocks, decay-

Illusion saves the day.

They pass without a clue

Of hidden shades of blue;

They rush on breezing by,

Internally you cry.

Some days you drop your guise,

A break from feeding lies

With hopes that they will care;

Instead you feel them stare.

Again you wear your face

As nothing can replace

That old familiar trick-

A façade when feeling sick.

I guess it’s just your style-

You hide behind a smile.

You always say your fine,

You give the same old line.

Unfinished

Please be kind, can’t seem to find the right words on my mind, get me out of this bind, help me find meaning in the grind. Can’t press rewind…

Take a step back, regain what I lack, restore sacred pact or stop the hue from fading black. I’m under attack…

Slinging arrows at my own heart, stumbling before I start, bumbling and fumbling my own part, seeking solace in art, trying not to fall apart…

At the seams, stuck in a bad dream, hanging onto a beam, losing steam, just wanting to redeem…

Myself. Refind where I once was,remind myself of the because, rekindle flames of lost love, restore that fading vibrant buzz, remind myself that all does…

Have meaning, opportunities for redeeming, visions worth believing, moments for resteaming, ways of finally cleaning…

The stains soiling my days, storms shrouding my ways, vision clouded with haze. I want to raze…

Burn it all down to the ground, silently cleanse without a sound; next comes the rebound, proclaiming at last lost but found. I fall down…

On my knees, saying please make this disease cease and help me seize the keys to times of ease and calmer seas.

Waiting Room

Once again I sit in a waiting room, ready to open my soul- bare- to a stranger in hopes that he can tweak me, slightly adjust these parts of my mind that seem not to work and modify my mentality. Or is a total overhaul in order? Or maybe, just maybe, nothing at all- just a swift kick in the balls?

When we sit down what should I discuss? My history exposes valleys and peaks- do I include the moments of which I rarely speak? Am I really that bad? Really that off? Or could we just look at my good side where it’s not that rough? Should we delve a little deeper, digging past the carefully crafted, meticulously maintained exterior, to expose the deep flaws and dark places hidden inside my mind?

Sitting in the waiting room, waiting to bare my soul, I realize it may be too late to claim disclosure is in my control, as the cracks are already showing I’m not whole. Straining to hold it together the past years of my life makes it easier to see that everything’s not right. Don’t judge by my appearance as it can still mislead, but get me talking about my struggles that have grown suffocating as weeds.

Time to have no fear and let it all out; not try to fight but instead laugh, cry and shout. All in one day, I’m nasty and nice; my moods vacillate with the roll of the dice. Keep quiet when I’m down and lay low when I’m high, fearing others might notice and then they might pry. Sometimes can’t stop crying when others aren’t around and other days can’t cry if my house burnt to the ground. Either laugh way too much, telling inappropriate jokes, or can’t laugh at all, even with a few tokes. For these past couple years I’ve taken many a hit, but try as a might I still feel like shit.

I’m hungry, I’m empty, I’m lost, I’m confused. Will you help me, my doctor, or is this just one more ruse?

I wait in the waiting room, with a simple appeal: fix me, doctor, fix how I feel.

A moment or two more, I’m left alone. I realize while waiting I don’t sink like a stone. All this time I’ve been staying afloat- really don’t need doc to throw me a rope. I’m open, no doubt, to learning how better to swim, receiving guidance to navigate this ocean I’m in.

But my time for waiting has now come to an end; already long overdue for me to mend. I lift up my eyes, look at the clock, no longer waiting on the doc.

Bipolar Dilemma

Bipolar Dilemma

Wee Willy Shakespeare once said, “all the world’s a stage and we are merely players.” Wise words from one of the famous founding fathers of the Dead Old White Guys (DOWGs) club who still have a stranglehold on much of the literary canon and, to a certain degree, political and financial landscape. Words that make me wonder…

What’s my role? If this world’s a stage and I’m just a player, what role do I play?

Am I meant to be behind the curtain, pulling ropes and shining spotlights on stars? Am I just a small role- not even the star in my own personal narrative? Am I a man with a mask, gaining notoriety through playing the part that others expect? Or, perhaps, just a stock character, selling out my soul and accepting a simpler role? All the uncertainty is taking its toll.

I like to think- or hope- that the answer to all the above questions is no.  Or should I say NO!!!

I am not just settling as some behind the scenes laborer, toiling away as others twirl in the spotlight, benefiting from my will and my work. I do not need to accept a minor role, allowing others to steal the show. And I certainly don’t need to continually hide who I am, itching in my own skin, wondering what will happen if I tear off the masks I wear.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t need to be the star but- at long last- I gotta be me! I need to dance like me (pretty goofy), sing like me (slightly off key), walk like me (oddly, I’m told), talk like me (kinda quirky), and think like me (preach it, brother!). I need to stop wearing masks and delivering lines that aren’t mine. I need to stand up and speak- not what I think you want me to say, but what is actually on my mind, each and every day.

So what’s holding me back, you question, dear reader of mine?

I’m afraid. Afraid of being judged.  Frightened of not being loved. Terrified of negative consequences. Concerned with ramifications of no longer wearing masks tailored to present me not as I am, but as who you want me to be. Doubtful of my commitment to pull off this part- the role of my life- of plain ol’ me.

Why the trepidation? All my life I’ve been shifting shapes just to hear “you’re doing great!” Every day I’ve been sliding into someone else’s skin, unsure if I could win.

The real me? I’m a yo-yo, up and down, sometimes a mess and yearning to grow. One day hiding pain, the next pulling up on reigns. But learning to fly under the radar is no way to be a star.

So long I’ve been taught to hold it together. Sell myself out and weather the weather. Hide all the lows and mellow the highs. Don’t show yourself- put on a guise.

But I’m thinking it’s time to come out of that closet. Set myself free, fuck easy does it.

What part will I play? I’ll play who I am. Costumes exchange. Sets rearrange. Singing high and low cuz I got some range. And if you think I’m strange? I ain’t gonna change.

 

Abstinence Song

I can ignore your Siren’s call,

Too many times you’ve made me fall.

Once I use, I become small-

Without you here, I have it all.

Keep on calling- I stand tall!

 

At times I questioned where I belong.

You made me feel right by doing wrong.

I run from you fast, I change my song.

My need for you is long, long gone.

Without your crutch, I am strong.

 

You took my peace, stole my pride.

No longer free, my hands were tied.

An honest man, I often lied,

Looked in the mirror, as tears were cried.

Each time I used, part of me died.

 

I leave behind acts of a sociopath,

Destroying myself in personal bloodbath,

Blaming carnage on a cold God’s wrath.

Done complicating, see life’s simple math:

Now at peace at this place in my path.

 

Every day living like it’s my last day.

Down on my knees to Higher Spirit I pray:

Give me your insight, show me your way,

Reveal to me now my part in this play,

Mold me great potter, I am your clay.