I tore the frames from off your face.
You still weren’t you.
I tore the lining out of the jacket that
someone else had given you–
you still weren’t you / you still weren’t
you: were lost somewhere
under “someone now” trinkets
meant to make you into something,
given you by someone else.
And I guess what you have
isn’t really yours, which means,
so sadly, I never knew you
(even after I slapped off your stupid costume).
I always think I know liars from
I don’t know anything but broken promises.
Head-achey, tumble-dried, and under-whelmed
one inevitably begins to explore other options
an escape from spontaneous combustion.
But what if there are no more options?
Head-achey and tumble-dried
at least what I own is really mine:
It actually belongs to me.
I’m not a
consignment conglomerate of identities.
Haphazard, unintended, and crumbled into cruelty.
Why does a person
sometimes turn cruel
when confronted with an obvious truth?
As if. it were. not obvious.
People just don’t discuss the damage others inflict
upon each other: out of politeness.
It’s a heavy rock to carry over
way too many rivers.
So, I’m the one without any clothes.
And it’s damn near a fashion show
at the dentist;
a goddamn costume-ball while you grow–
Once you’ve grown,
the costume changes
(from clothing to words)
(from brands to faces).
And even though you already knew
that it was fucked
things become a million times more fucked up
once you ‘can’ decide to ‘walk’ out the ‘door’–
whatever the Hell that may mean.
At least before, the costumes had words
and colors, and flashy,
scrawled across in flashy logos.
Now it just emulates disgusting necessities.
can’t you see?
This is not a game to me.
This is my life.
I will live and then die.
Cannot hang around
this make-believe lie.
I don’t even know
what the fuck is going on.
We make each other smile/then
make each other cry.
over nothing over nothing over nothing
again; while meanwhile,
Head-achey and tumble- dried,
But I just have to walk around this way.
Maybe for the rest of my life.
But fuck it: it’s better
than lying down.
copyright: C. Ward 2017