“People My Age “

I will never understand
Your inability to love.
Your wastefulness.
Your lack of gratitude.
Your inability to appreciate the shimmering details,
the small things
right before your eyes.
Your boredom.
Your insistence on misery,
for yourself
and everyone around you.
Your unwillingness to speak to your children
like real people
for any length,
or at all.
Your falseness.
Your lack of substance
and the way you fill in the gap with lies
and pretense
rather than effort.
Your facebook.
Your self obsession.
Your self loathing.
How you can be so self obsessed when you hate yourself
so much.
Why you just follow along,
with
all the trends,
the meaningless music,
the constant tv
and ever increasing
commercial breaks.
The sexualization
of everything.
Sluts.
Pretending that allowing
everyone to look at your
everything
is owning the skin you’re in.
Make up.
Shapewear.
Controlling the people you claim to love.
Not allowing your child’s other parent
to parent.
Letting your child be the parent.
Children and technology.
Children who can’t speak,
use a toilet,
use utensils,
but know how to operate a cell phone,
the remote,
a game controller,
netflix,
their parents.
Lack of imagination.
Schools catering to unparented children
because otherwise there would be no one
to cater to.
The “______ Lives Matter” game.
You don’t understand
that no lives matter
equally.
That all you have is you
and your limited perception.
That, as long as you refuse to acknowledge
how limited your knowledge and experiences are
you can never grow.
All that matters
is already right in front of you
but you insist
on pretending you’re headed for another life,
a future
you imagine
but that is in no way connected
to your present actions.
When did living like today is the last
boil down to
a frat party?

Pocketful of {Dead} Pets

I bury myself in caring for things
I may not be able to keep alive;
Was it my subconscious that wrote out “carrying” when I thought I meant
To say caring?
Do I focus my efforts on things
I see as redeemable?
The cat,
another in the dime a dozen story
of released kittens,
mangy,
bug ridden.
I left her to die,
with a litter of flea bitten young
when I realized I could barely even keep myself alive.
Then there was the puppy
who showed me how my eyes gleam red
in the face of things
I can’t control.
Poor mutt.
I’ll never have my own dog
again.
I did better with the bird
I found in the mouth of a cat,
dragging myself from bed at noon
to judiciously cut nuts and berries
into slivers, on a saucer,
and watch him eat
until every morsel had vanished.
He stayed with me until he was able to fly
and I was sad to realize
how badly I had wanted him
to stop depending on me.
There was another cat,
kicked
and thrown
by the neighborhood children.
My daughter told them I had taken their pet.
I refused to give her back,
but she got out
and was pregnant before she was a year old.
There was nothing I could do.
They started keeping her inside.
There are dog packs here
always seen
eating trash in the ditches.
I leave them alone.
At least they have each other,
often just pairs,
one small, one pit- no surprise.
I killed the infant mice
out of laziness
and cried for two days
at my abhorrent behaviour.
I decided I hate mice.
Vicious little bastards,
worse to one another
than my awful feeding schedule and lack of warmth
could ever be.
Maybe I saved them, after all.
Now I have a starling.
She’s so afraid
and I just want her to know that I love her,
with her twig thin legs
and immaculate claws.
My heart melts when she gapes at me
and fluffs up contentedly in my palm.
I want her to live forever.
We fed her the caterpillar we failed to feed.
I don’t know why it wouldn’t eat,
like the fifty some caterpillars we watched hatch yesterday,
walked about hunting on behalf of,
for very specific leaves.
Four courses we provided
and they’re having none of it.
Their mother only lived five days.
They were her only purpose.
She was beautiful and I don’t want
to end her legacy.
We won’t even get into the pets I had
as a child,
under my parents’ regime.

Disclaimer: If I made it sound like I killed my puppy, I didn’t. I gave her to a guy who named her Lilly and apparently taught her to ride a skateboard.

He Came Back From The Future To Save Himself

The American dream is only
For immigrants
And the blind;
we’ll take this boy from his home
To awaken new realities,
To show him the truth
Beyond the misery of “hometown.”
How disappointing
That true happiness is so often
only known by the most broken.
Did you know
That underneath rock bottom
Lies simplicity?
Either that or religion,
Depending on how capable
You see yourself being
Of becoming captain
Of your own destiny.
What good is a dream
If you wake and live
The opposite of your desires?

May 12th, 2017

My hands are dirty
And my face is raw
And this is where I belong.
I may never see
The countries I have heard of
And thought about
For so long.
The world is like a dream
Unreal;
Mystical,
Promising and foreboding,
And I could hide away forever,
Telling myself
I didn’t miss out on anything
Or
I could forge ahead,
be every part
Of everything
And make peace with my smallness,
For it is all I have
And the world is indifferent.

… Like a motherless child

The only thing worse

than the death of someone you love

is the complete and utter failure of that person

to fulfill their role in your life

while there’s breath in their lungs.

They’re walking about,

talking to others,

sharing glances and smiles with people

who are not you.

My mother won teacher of the year,

I was told,

and I wonder why it is the children of others

she came through for.

I guess it’s easier to speak up on behalf

of children whose demons are not of your making,

and whom you are paid to tolerate.

I wonder if she thought of me at all,

the child who desperately needs someone to talk to

and is left to call an 800 number and say,

through tears,

“This is the kind of day you call your mother, but mine is dead. ”

It’s easier than explaining that she just doen’t care,

the person who was supposed to love me forever,

like me for always,

as long as she’s living…

I guess dead inside counts too.

Timothy

The gaps your mean spirit

and lack of nurture left in me

burned a deep desire across my heart;

I would create the family you couldn’t.

I would build the love you never gave me

What I couldn’t see,

in my flawed child’s logic;

What I couldn’t know,

without creating examples,

was that some holes are not mine to fill.

It was your job

to give me the basic building materials

and you let me down-

all the way down,

raised at rock bottom.

(Aren’t homonyms fun? I could say that you razed me,

rather than bringing me up.)

So there I was,

eighteen,

sweet,

determined,

a partial human, convinced I could do your job for myself,

as sort of an afterthought,

like a brick house

with white aluminum sided additions;

I can tack on all the rooms I want,

but the ones you built will forever be empty.

And then there was this infant,

this glowing orb of soul

coated in the finest layer of flesh

and golden hair.

This ill gotten treasure

I thought I could stuff into the cracks, and it was then that I knew.

The rooms were not empty.

They were full of dark water,

murky with your filth

and floating debris

and this

would make me forever insufficient

at achieving my deepest goal-

I am the masthead of this new family ship

and what a gnarled and awkward interpretation of beauty

am I.

My ability to love

and be loved

is shrouded in your shadows

and though I can work,

fight,

burn my heart

to cast light in all the dim spaces,

that darkness will always linger

requiring compensation.

You succeeded.

You win.

Your mission of dominance is complete.

I can never have what I wanted.

There is a tribe,

Beautiful

and beyond my wildest dreams

but what I didn’t know

was how hard I would have to hold the wheel

to correct for your imbalance

and that I can’t,

for one moment,

stop pulling;

likewise I mustn’t over correct,

which is my most frequent mistake, and then

we find ourselves careening towards the shoulder

as I seek again, to find the middle.

I thought there was a time when I would moveĀ  past you

as though you never existed.

Now I see the truth

which is:

You will always be here.

I am formed of the same clay as you

and the best I can do

is stoke the smouldering hatred I have for your horrible spirit

that the flames may burn bright

over the lives I seek to protect.

I am better than you

can ever take credit for.

I am not yours.

I live with your failure,

as do you,

but I will not live with your shade.