The Man in the Moon

(written October 26,2008)

If I had the night sky all to myself
I'd lay in the grass and stare at the moon
I'd try to discern if there's a face hidden there
Or if it's just this universal indifference

If I had the night sky all to myself
I'd curl up in the grass and dirt
And cry out my sorrow, my burdens, my fears
I'd give them all to that bright, blue moon

Because I like to believe there's a face hidden there

And when I was done
The wind would dry my tears
And rip at my clothes
Reminding me that I am cold--

Man in the moon or no; He can't keep you warm.

The End

(written October 23, 2008)

Desolation
Destruction
This is how I feel

Deconstruction
Discontent
I need to make some changes

Rebuilding again--
I wonder what face
The mirror will see
When it's all at an end.

Where it Counts

(written September 22, 2008)

I never have enough to give to you
And when I do talk I feel unnatural,
Manic as the day is long
So mostly I stay quiet, in my own world
Where nothing much happens
Yet, the world is expected of me

I'm meant for more than this, aren't I?
Is my task here so simple as to teach
These children right from wrong?
What about me?
What about what my soul needs
To keep it going strong?

What of the practice my days require?
Does this forced interaction prepare me for days to come?
I'm full of questions with borrowed answers,
Or none at all.

Sorrow

(written September 22,2008)

Rivulets of rain grace my window pane
And I can't help but feel like that window
And the rain is sorrow running through my pain
Down my glassy cheeks, to places where sorrow collects
To strike another day

My sorrow consumes me and I die in
Self-reflective writing, everyday
Until I am nothing but a scribbled page
Filled with nonsense, verbs and nouns
Filled with sorrow

I guess it collects on the page.

Yet Again

(written September 22, 2008)

Time spent wasted away
Right where God wants me...
To learn what?

Yet another doctor to fill another day
At least I'm not hospitalized
Listening to other people's problems
And feeling superior.

Yet another hour spent writing
The only thing that seems to keep me sane.
Even when I was manic, it was a saving grace.
It showed me how bad I really was.

Yet another overdose of Klonopin
Swallowed with the best intentions
But swallowed nonetheless

Yet another day filled with children's tears,
Hurts, and complaints
So few are the times of happiness
Or maybe I just have trouble finding them

Yet another year of nothing
Of no accomplishments.
Another year to be a disappointment
To my family.

I used to have a way with words
I used to be able to turn a phrase
Now I feel all dried up--
The reservoir of words has gone up in steam

Why can't I be happy with me?

Is it bad to wish for a manic state,
Just for a change of pace?

Shattered

I've got a poem waiting to break free
If only I could find its rhythm
Pin its words to the page
Like butterflies on display

This poem will shatter you
It will shatter me
It will be great
But I can't get it down

The words elude me

TS Eliot

(written August 22,2008)

I'm a wasteland
A Barren shell
A scattered wind
And an unformulated plan

Shards of me
Float aimlessly
In an endless sea

There's no knowing where I'm going
Or who I'm going to be

Can the broken pieces be put back together?
Or is it time for a new me?

I feel lost
Broken
Undefined

I don't know what I live for
What I stand for

I've chased mistakes
Until I'm nothing but dust
At their feet

I was so happy once
Once upon a time
But there are no happy endings
Not this time

What do I have that I can call mine?