Monday, February 1, 2010

this is years old poem thingy I wrote:

Broken hearts are a mess to clean up, which is why I insist to the aidding hand "it’s just a crack", desperately holding the peaces in place spilling my empathy on the floor. You see breaking up is a disturbing momentum. Your life is all mixed up, you are no longer acting as you feel, your thoughts don’t match the words you are saying, and your actions with your emotions, that’s called harmony, your life’s harmony is disturbed by a break up. And so you’re out of balance.

Mellow out the scene a little more. I was never one for a fancy curve and splatter of the emotions. I am warning you the crucial scene you want to save you won’t provide the shelter of wellbeing you demand. Even if your efforts are powerful none of the beautiful creatures will see. If you wish to see the bleeding empathy of my heart then you will have to flee from your fortress behind. I don’t think you could bluff the fear you have, you know better than anyone that you are not invincible. The shady makeup and gratifying laughter is a flawless strategy you wont admit, but the break of confidence can be seen in the corner of your eye, and I anticipate so, the glance to the right that you are wish no one can see, but dear I can notice you are fleeing your security, you are vulnerable most when you see me flagging content with another doll by my side. It breaks you with a red panic to think I can see that you are suddenly calm, suddenly quite. You flush a worry that it is obvious, the heat begins from your toes to your heart, flooding your blushing face and now you must sit down. Grab your weapon, grab it tightly, hold it close to your heart. Feel its blades beside your chest, the shield alongside your arm, your despair encased and your valor on your shoulder.

Find your spot of safety, protection is as shallow as your ego and trust me dear that’s not that shallow. Notice that I am a darker shade of blue, and make note calm waters run deep. Are you brave? Can you walk when the heat comes, or the signs of fire are starting? I am amazed you pulled off pretending, put me off as a fool; fool for you. I never rushed that fast, you took me for the wrong kind of fool, I fell flat on my face before I even got the footing right to rush in.

Mistakes are paper thin, and the company beside us is ammunition, the beating of popularity is some assumed competition, for some fanatic reason we think who ever is happier will win, friends by numbers is points on the score board, but honestly… this isn’t about them. Your false pretence is my false content. “I’m fine” I tell the concerned common friend, a question I deign the contexts of, play the tone that I don’t know what she is talking about.

Demean myself, it is demeaning me, your demeaning, he is demeaning you and you him, she with me, the weapons we threaten at each other’s throats, it all is demeaning.

If everyone knew I cared, if it mattered, if the ifs were pulsating questions and I spoke my mind, said it out laud, compromised you would see I never feared at all but am petrified of what damage you could cause my dignity… so pull out your gun, let the crowd see you have your gun to my head, and my finger is on the trigger. They all would appreciate the silencing of the awkward oar we are spilling into the atmosphere, polluting their party with our drama.

Let the hammer slam, and exposition of powder expose our naked dismal jealousy so we can go home ridicule and battered

But that will never be

Demeaning the whole thing is, I am demeaned.

3 comments:

Warner / Debbie Blair said...

I am impressed. That is a long poem. I like it.

Serinster dot net said...

deep! there were some really good line, some lines that went right over my head, but altogether, good poetry!

Heather Lytle said...

Very good Brandon, you have a unique gift with poetry. I know you're busy and you don't have a lot of extra time, but I think you would like Dorothy Dunnett's novel "Game of Kings" her writing is difficult for me yet satisfying. And maybe would make a good screen play one day. Your poem reminded me of her writing a little bit.

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