Me, Myself, and I AM

How long,

O how long will I watch?

When will I hold in my hands

this precious universal something

that somehow missed my cradle?

 

Stupid wretch. He thinks himself now alive.

What living thing e’er sat like silent stone

as life was wrung from him by Life’s cruel claws?

 

I hold joy inside.

Or perhaps it’s insanity.

This strange desire to laugh and cry and moan

at this stupid,

beautiful

thing called “life”.

 

Oh, hush. Leave the air you fill with folly

for others to breathe. Stay down. Be silent.

 

Be still, my heart; o will you ne’er be still?

When, when, oh soul, will you your moanings cease?

Again, fool? Bite your tongue and bleed, wretch! Bleed!

Put down your fists, vile thoughts! Away, away,

and leave me! Peace, I beg! Peace! Filthy self,

show your featureless face for beating! PEACE!

Where!? Show me peace and I will yield! Show me!

 

WOULD YOU PLEASE SPEAK TO ME!?

 

Very well.

 

I loathe you.

Because I want so badly to love you.

Maybe then I could let you believe it

when they speak the word

and act it for you…

But when will you be who you must be?

 

And who must I be?

Tell me this, and I will yield.

 

You can say nothing.

Because you know nothing.

Nothing of me.

Nothing of the world

you claim would like to snuff me out.

 

I know not.

 

And so I act not.

 

Trust.

Act.

Leap.

—————————————————————————-

This is my most honest poem to date. And I think the only one where I acknowledge that I hate myself…and the only one where I acknowledge that somewhere in my heart, God tells me exactly what to do with what I’m feeling. And it wasn’t just the last few words.

It was the pauses, the silences. Where I could just be. And not torture myself with my thoughts.

I guess the super-perfectionist part of me just isn’t ever gonna be satisfied. I’m never going to be perfect, or exactly who I want to be. I’m never going to know everything that everyone else seems to know so easily. There’s no point in beating myself up and trying to shove in everything I can as quickly as possible. I can’t take life as if I’m playing catch-up. Because I’ll be playing on the losing side the rest of my life. And life isn’t a game.

It’s an opportunity. Not to be perfect. Not to be great. Not to take the world by storm. It’s just an opportunity to live and to love. That’s all. That’s it.

And that’s awesome.

Posted on December 16, 2013, in Poetry and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. This is gorgeous. I could actually FEEL the motion, the building, the crescendo of intensity and emotion. And then… stillness. Wow. I didn’t fully understand it, but I loved both the parts that I did and that I didn’t. I guess that’s pretty common with poetry, or at least, it is in my experience. Dude, you rock. Don’t ever stop writing. You have such a beautiful gift!

    And besides all of that (and, in fact, without any of it) I love you. 😀 You’re such an awesome person. Seriously. 🙂

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