Category Archives: Self-doubt

To-Do List

Good morning, all. What’s on your to-do list? Groceries, practices, galas, or lunches. Think of all the decisions you might make today; is it you that is making them? Can you help yourself? Or does your self help you? Think about this as you read this short piece today. Without further ado…

To Do

If it were agency

through which we divined our decision,

would we have defined this insanity?

Would we have found ourselves,

rife in the ways that we are,

at the impasse of that infernal cycle to which we are bound?

Does the man make a decision?

Or does the decision make the man?

If it’s agency, you are a monster.

If it’s not, you are a monster.

Hardly matters, so it seems.

Make the choice;

let it make you.

There’s hardly anything you can do.

Things of Glass and Ire

Good morning, friends! Lost souls and faceless monsters cry out from the deep, hoping and praying for a respite from their torrid fate. They sing their ghastly hymns and haunt their hallowed haunts, awaiting someone who will never come to take them away to a place they’ll never go. Heaven seems a place just out of reach. Please enjoy the poem.

The Faceless One

The faceless one

so watches in the mirror

as fog covers eyes

so he cannot see

and as fog covers his mouth

so he cannot speak.

“I have no face, yet I must be!”

he cries into the darkness.

Now if only words came out

and anyone could hear them.

He’ll move his hands to where his nose should be,

feeling nothing but a smooth facade,

knowing not the way he breathes

and ending with a somber nod.

How broken is the machine

when probing diagnostics

find no extant diagnosis

and all there is to show

are fields of broken things

and the tips of deftly clipped wings?

As the fog closes in,

it gets harder to breathe.

Flown The Coop

Do you ever feel like maybe you need to slow down? To stop and feel the sunlight and remember the way it feels to be a person? Take a look outside and remember the way the rain feels. Go outside and feel yourself in the puddles and leaves. Remember.

Rainy Day

It’s been a while since I’ve seen the rain.

Not so much looked at it,

but a long time since I really saw the way it hits the grass

and the way it always wets my shoes last.

I haven’t sat in the rain,

watching as it falls

and thinking of all the other times.

So many other times.

I haven’t walked in time with waves of water

crashing up against the buildings

and the concrete.

I haven’t been protected by a tree,

o’ great men that stand upon the earth,

feeling warmth amidst the mist around me.

I’ll sit here staring out the window

with nothing to do

and finding that when morning comes,

I find myself

in every drop of dew.

Searching, Finding

I’d like to say I’m looking. It’d be nice to see the end of the line, the light in the end of the tunnel, but no, I find that I am simply existing and unsure of which direction to go if I even go at all. Any ideas? Please enjoy the poem, friends.

White Whale

A burning sea

and smoky sky.

Cleansed by fire

and ash and lye.

No boats,

no masters.

On the open ocean now,

only hope you’ll move faster.

It’s coming, you see.

That thing you sail away from.

It always seeks and always finds

those who feel but numb

in a world that often blurs the lines.

Not hunting,

but being hunted.

There is no hope

to fight back,

only ways to clean with soap.

The time and place is never, nowhere.

Think Hard For A While

Howdy, pardners. Apologies for the lack of a post yesterday. I was feeling somewhat under the weather and needed a break. Today I’ve got for you a little poem I cooked up just for y’all. Please Enjoy!

So Many Maybes

It doesn’t feel real.

Being swept from my feet,

carried in your arms,

proceeding then

to be swiftly shunted

back into the ground,

on my back this time,

no air in my lungs.

It happens so fast

it gives me whiplash

and, boy, does my neck hurt.

Feeling not alive or dead,

but like a shadow

drifting from corner to corner,

from tree to tree,

from person to person,

finding no respite

in this transience,

yet always coming with the day.

Coming to terms.

Not an agreement

without difficulty.

So many maybes…

How tired can one be?