two faces pt. 2

this face
is the
real
one.

worn
tired
exhausted
exasperated

the fake it till you make it
is
dead
to
me.

every shitty experience is displayed on my face.

wrinkles.
heavy bags under my eyes.
eyelids lag.
sadness envelopes
every pore
on my face.

there is no escape
from the pain;
I
feel
it
every
day;
every
moment;

I’m sorry:

the first face is always better than the second face.

leaping years

today is “leap day”
and thus a “leap year”
whatever the fuck that means
(and shouldn’t we not have to work on a “leap day”?).

I want a “leap back year”
to erase
so
many
awful
decisions.

people often say:
“things happen for a reason.”

i can’t help but laugh
and tell you with certainty…
that they don’t happen for a reason.

Life is shitty.
Adapt.
Accept.

and then accelerate the dullness of life
until you finally reach inertia.

and the boulder you’ve encountered
flattens you
and your
insular
philosophy.

perhaps I just need
a “leap back one poem”
so
I
don’t
upset
you.

blossoming cacti

what if i just keep my foot on the pedal
with a cliff forthcoming;
one surely to cause significant harm.

i’m smiling with the thought and
the
eventual
bloody
onslaught.

i peek to my left
and notice a cacti;
in many ways
I represent the cacti:

succulent
spiney
and
blossom
brilliantly
colored
flowers,
but
only
found
in
the
wild
in
very
specific
geographic
terrains.

If you get close to me,
you’re playing with death,
or at a minimum,
a painful
experience.

however; in the off chance
your reptilian armoured
skin
slithers
into
my
environment
and
my
immediate
vicinity…
and you
unlock
my potent
antioxidant
water:

you may just get yourself a marriage proposal.

god spoke to me

I had an important, positive, and inspirational
message
to
write
about!

Life altering message! Straight from the lips of God!

Finally!
Life isn’t all bad, Jonathan.

And then…
I forgot what the message was;
(I was so fucked up when he called)…
and besides,
it wouldn’t have
mattered
anyway
in
a
billion
years.

 

two faces pt. 1

we all wear at least two different faces
in
life:
work
and
home
being
the most common.

it’s a double-agent
surreptitious
james bond
ninja kinda thing.

over time,
we learn to perfect the craft;
especially in a corporate atmosphere;
if you don’t,
well…

if I had it my way,
I’d have an office
filled with liquor,
smokes,
guns,
and
Franklins.

but I have to be stealthy
be cautious
hold back
and
it’s not
like
that these
other people
don’t laugh
and understand.

it’s only that what you do in your personal time is jealous of what I do in my personal time;
and quite Frankly,
…I can’t blame you.

“work flirting”

although she is married
with kids
and I’m her subordinate
(and often acting insubordinate);
there is something there.

we both know it.
we will never admit to it,
and can never acknowledge it,
but
these momentary encounters
brightens
both
our
days.

the eyes go from tired and bored and upset and frustrated
to
refreshed;
stimulated;
reinvigorated;
revitalized.
No makeup necessary; connections seem to do the trick.

a hallway can go from boring
and empty
to
sensational
and
euphoric.

I look forward to these random run-ins.

I can’t wait for the next.

organ donors

sippin’.     smokin’.      listening.       penning.

similar to the man’s face outside of Publix
with his shopping cart
that
contains
his
home
(no groceries that I could see);
i’m growing weary.

it appears that I’m in race
and a competition
that
none
of
my friends are participating in.

death to my internal organs
(and let’s just get rid of external organs while we’re at it)
my brain is mushier than usual
neurons aren’t firing (i need more ammo).

lucky for the near-dead folks:
I’m not an organ donor.