This poem is dedicated to someone I used to consider a friend but who nuked that from orbit and demanded an apology from me for their hurt feelings over something I did not do.
A strange and powerful lethargy
Astonishing in it’s motionless
My hand stills ascribing without glee
My pen not racing to express
Ideas of showing how I see
Deep into your soul (what a mess)
I am fitting to your reality
Mind steeped in syrup thickness
You exposed yourself to me
Thank you for at last being honest.
Poised on a sharpened blade he balanced
Burning at each end, the wax became flame or smoke
Throwing light onto the faces of us who watched
Smoke stains on the ceiling, wax splashing to the floor
Recasting (looking back and working things out)
Always alone, my emotions dismissed, dissed, disinterest, fitted
Into a shape that was defined for me without my inclusion.
Body and mind moved by the ebbs of her mood
That pushed and pulled and missed me; but it never really mattered, did it?
Defiance was written when I started responding to bullies and gaslighters and I fought the narrative defined for me to follow
Instructions carved in rocks, I hold them against me.
The rules we brought down from the hill, burning and shouting.
Someone there said they were right, and when they were gone from sight
We knew we held a treasure; our future assured.
With each new meeting, a piece more of me is revealed
And removed to be recast. They say it’s important .
As it’s borne away I watch it leave, I grieve, silent; I wait.
It’s worked, formed, set aside to prove and conform.
The existence of the crowd around me as I resist the loudness and sound. My endocrine
glands leak panic, my face glitters and is frantic, and my flesh displays outward pleasure, manic
“Pleased to see you, it’s been too long!” – I air-kiss and grasp arms and wish myself away
as I stay, and my talk is small and empty and so is theirs, my feet hurt and my drink is empty
In Relation to us
I would not take the cup from times’ hand that would lead me back to my past
So that I may choose again, choose the path leading from strife and pain
That for moments in my time made me insane; overall, I gained.
You failed.
Money and Power, power and money, is a cycle that the self absorbed
And obsessed like you who weave that narrative around your life. You lie
so naturally you are believed for why would someone so full of the will to succeed
need to lie? It’s all a lie and a cycle of lies proceed you.
Taking
I have run out of shits to give to people who demand from me
That which they don’t stand for to enrich themselves.
Grasping cold straws to fill the void of cold life, they stand
For control over my body my life, my choice, which does
Not fill them with anything other than bitterness.
A dark force plays with abandon tearing apart your soul; you cannot admit that
your legacy is blackened and unripe fruit. Treading on it yields neither wine nor juice;
Bottled up, it festers into logic and reason that must needs be denied.
Assumption of superiority helps sooth the waters of turbulent reason while
The bile and fear lap at your toes, calmed only by casting your eyes towards heaven
It is a test you must pass, denying qualms, signs and portents, extinguishing candles lighting the path
Your hair shirt, your denial of the senses; as you cook and then bite into the sadness which you feed
to your child who inherits the fear and the pain wrapped in a bright shell of promise
Moylen Green - writings 