Low
If I could transfuse the voice in my head
to my car stereo,
would the swearing be censored
or any less effective
once emotion comes in to play like a heavy metal chorus?
My CD rotation is a sad genre tonight
but, just yesterday it was Limp Bizkit.
My mood is a coin toss call
of self sabotage I count on
like menstruation for makeshift asylum.
I’ve got that feeling people chase
through extreme sports or rationed drugs.
No, it’s not that high, it’s this low
I suffer to sustain
because it’s all I’ve ever known.
Some have to check out, after time
but I have stamina and regimentation
to support a tolerable fatigue of life.
It’s not that I do not enjoy friendship
and laughing–there are days
that I am a functioning socialite.
I simply cannot hold the face
like my alcohol.
My skin is more grey than beige
until I am held under light like a film print.
I am not a morning person or a sunflower,
I squint my eyes so much that I seem
to want for sleep everywhere that I walk.
It’s not that I am a night owl,
I am just very dark.
I feel the relation of my body to the earth
when it rains.
It’s a heavy nexus I miss
like the appendage of my mother
before there was fallacy in her instinct.
Thunder and lighting bolts
are the screaming and shoving from my youth
re-enacted as a ballet.
I teethed on turbulence
and now I salivate for pain.
It’s not that I don’t want to be happy,
It’s just, I don’t know how.
The only way I can love
is alone and from a safe distance.
Outside of my imagination and without a spiked drink,
I have needs I cannot condone or relieve.
I move like hydroplaned tires when touched.
I tense myself short of two arms span
and make excuses about personal space
to curtail interaction and avoid any risk of being hurt.
It’s not that I don’t want someone,
sometimes I’m just not sure it’s something I deserve.
