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You are not great
You are not special
You’re another puzzle piece,
a letter of scrabble.
But spell great without the G,
or special when missing a C,
place yourself wherever you fit
it’s for them you’ve got to be
they’ll take credit either way, so
if and when you tell
listen son, be a good girl now, when you’re all worn out
it’s best to give em hell.
all
that
time
effort
energy
left
to
H
A
N
G
—
Get out of
bed
Untangle from
sheets
And
breathe
Each day
new
Another crack at
life
Little squirrels
selectively seeking
acorns, oak trees
perfection, little hunters
in the daylight, scrounging
to find, hold, and bury
any nourishment
granted, before those hawks
circling overhead
make their selection.
If nothing else sticks
take solace in that,
life happens—and—you die,
between the lines
there’s simply time.
For what?
Bah! You tell me!
Besides,
I’ve got to get my watch fixed.
It happened one night
then again,
and another.
It spread like a plague,
unbiased wildfire.
It couldn’t be contained
or shocked from the brain
It came scarlet red, burnt bright
in a pyre, it’s beauty, arcane
giving hope to the choir.
I often hide the cover of the book
I’m reading,
commuting on the subway
or relaxing over coffee,
like anyone would care
either way, because yeah!
What if they did? They don’t.
But what if? And how does one explain
his book of choice, when more than not
the books I read give me no choice! Aha!
They’d label me pretentious, surely they should
but what if they didn’t?
Would I really have time for a friend,
when Whitman sings and celebrates self
Oh! You better believe I butt in.
Most of the time, it’s like
banging your head against a brick wall,
trying to knock some nugget of sense loose,
but other times it’s easier
like morphine, numb to the world — regardless —
while telling it exactly how you feel.
knowledge
can be the most powerful form
of despair
Shh…
(said the ventriloquist)
dummies don’t make a sound
The steps you take are big
where mine are small,
the steps I take are soft
while yours make imprints.
For now it seems that I am lazy
as you wipe sweat off your brow,
try to understand my empathy
for oak trees rooted to the ground,
and take heed in the soil, though I may
not make a sound, a drop of rain
breathing life, the only way I know how.
Words Of An Average White Male 