Handyman

Handyman of minds, an old nickname of mine, coined by an ex-girlfriend after I expiated an elaborate plan I created to destroy someone’s life. Hours, without missing a detail, I prated, describing everything from the emotion I felt when devising it, to what type of cookie I was eating while planning it out. This name was something that I was proud of…

Three days ago, I saw my reflection in a poorly lit bathroom. I saw one huge mouth, two small ears, and two thick eyebrows. I looked through the glass and into my dark brown eyes, I saw chaotic stories unwritten, unspoken and silent. I saw falling rocks beating the ground on impact. I saw melting ice, I saw deteriorating mountains. I saw sanded threads on off-road tires.  I saw erosion. I saw the past and its effect on the present.

Two days ago, I became ill with the diseased thoughts that I am only what my past allowed. I am constructed of a set of historical laws that permit me to exist exactly as I do. I continued to ruminate on time, on how the 30th second is only because a 29th came first. There is cause, and there is effect. I realized that I am both. I am both the cause of what is to come, and the effect of what did, I understood that I was paradoxical and could do nothing about it.

Yesterday, I stood beside myself in reflect. I starting removing insecurities and doubts and replacing them with viable substitutions that would bode a better tomorrow, and future throughout. I started becoming worthy of another day, and deserving of right now. I translated and screamed those silent stories on paper and slammed the journal shut. I scrubbed the stained heart with Lysol and dusted the old noggin with an old rag and Pledge. I erased the memory of enemies that have been chiseled into me. I reminded myself of an appointment I had made to become new. I frantically shook my head in the wind and mouthed no to a rearing devil. I slapped my feet on the gray ground and clinched my fists with joy. I started remembering why…I woke up. I started remembering that just 28 miles away, I have someone already depending on my tomorrow.

Today, I woke, I stepped outside the thick walls of my bed, and breathed. I stepped into my kitchen and steeped a hot glass of dandelion tea while prying open a bag of white grapes. I slowly hummed yesterday’s tune into the tilted tea cup. I walked into my living room and sat, looked into the depowered TV with no worries or regrets, I smiled at the opportunities of today that I haven’t even gotten to do yet…I started laughing at the fact that this isn’t as good as it gets, and I’m going to brighten someone’s day with a mannish “good morning” text. I opened my journal and wrote:

When tomorrow comes,

The cries from today fade,

From I which I will not personally degrade,

I will accept time and all that it’s done.

When tomorrow comes,

Older age,

A higher grade—

Of me to be won.

Alongside my ails I live,

With comfort and peace,

I give,

To discomfort a decease,

I am not bound to what is of yesterday,

And no thrall to its craving to stay.

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Misdirection

Give me something I don’t want,

Symbolism, the gnashing of teeth,

The gripping of fists,

The laying of beasts,

Beat…the head with clubs of futile emotion,

The heart…

Burst into color…in darkness,

The lightless entity of yesterday embrace me now,

Give me something I don’t want,

Confusion…misdirection and disarray,

Today…

Will end the sentences of what I cannot unsay.

Her stains keep the bed,

Red, bled,

Bleed,

Give me something I do not need,

Discord, dissension, illusion, feed—

Into from the same substance of greed,

Gluttony chooses to deceive the famished mind,

Days of damaged time,

Made frantic chimes…

The echoing end,

Give me something I want,

To no longer pretend,

That the nights are filled with promises,

Our actions are made from common sense,

My skull is no longer tense,

Her wall is no longer dense…

I want…to…know…what her touch means,

Because it is not what it seems.

Fit

Folly fazes the gracious eye,
Constrictions to character,
Bars to complex,
Societal carrier,
Of self and I.

To pick myself from the steaming street,
Thin shoes and screaming feet,
Miles along the road,
With weakened eyes the horizon folds.

I am gracious,
Strange, vivacious,
I am blazer, and slacks,
Straight razor and vintage coat racks,
I am smart, socially unspoken,
I am the product of common sense broken,
By battles and wars,
Fresh kidneys, clogged pores,
I am not “cool” to the caddish,
I am cruel to the faddish,
When I speak,
The tongue doesn’t slap my teeth,
I have no bodily deformities to keep,
I’m simply…universally unique,
I want to fit nowhere.

Missed

Eternal us,

Sleeps with the endless reality,

Of our forever togetherness,

We trust,

The tension between our bones to keep us together,

As we collide for better, or for worse,

I kiss beneath your modest, I show you your worth.

The day comes with haste,

The taste—

Of you remains on my tongue,

Beautiful, young—

Lingers on my teeth,

I question the futile boundaries we keep,

Shrill echoes of the pleasant past,

Ring in the hallow place of what we did last.

We forever,

Exigent loneliness,

Boisterous storms,

Wicked waves,

Screaming horns,

What we crave,

Lean against what we’ve sworn,

Bring us closer, with its age,

Was when our immortality was born…

My thoughts, boyish thinking,

I miss you.

Ammassment

We will love but,

We will not leave ourselves,

Our crust,

Our brittle…shell.

We can love but,

Cannot forget,

Her frozen touch,

We still but fret.

Her singeing scent stole,

Her skinning’s tint dull,

Dead girl, coeval,

As last night’s sip of Pomerol,

Age nibble me little, time eat me whole,

We can love, but cannot control,

The emoting vibrations of our past heart,

From which we cannot depart,–ourselves,

Ourselves from,

The heart, the holy drum,

Beating with fever and never numb,

Speaking in actions, and dumb.

Marks!

Lie upon a chiseled heart,

With names from past, unveil arts,

We cannot love without amassment.

Work, again a viable victim to the pointy humane subjection,

A rise to the ass, the dropping of the pitifully camouflaged uniform pants that tells me I am just like you,

The tides of my decisions will cast on the shores of my futures,

The futures of my tides will case on the shore of my decisions.

 

Work, is my idea, it can never be yours,

You need, your reasons to direct the crippled typing hands,

I need my heart to beat the keys,

Work, is impossible, when work.

 

Let tomorrow come again, and again, and again,

Reprehensible actions of a trying man, always,

The subordinate equal, alike but wrong,

The goddess of the book, throwing protocol to fill the cup,

Of structure and know how—

To allow all of this atrocity to exist, to live, to persist.

 

Take the sense from the nonsense, be left with nothing,

Take nothing from nonsense, and be left with me.

Your Religion

Composure first then reaction,

Wait…no, reaction first then composure,

Oh how the strong man lacks clemency,

And tears.

 

The sword of your religion to pierce my back,

Restrain the sin inside,

Arrest the rest of good,

Judge what my thoughts tell me.

 

The horror of your righteous words,

The terror to your sainted tongue,

The screams in your eyes,

Tell me I am wrong,

For the quipping mouth and jesting jaws,

Will break at untruths.