Category Archives: Self-doubt

My Own Deuteragonist

Wouldn’t it be nice to have a twin? Someone to sit by and be just like you and understand you on a level no one else can but just different enough you never get bored? I’d like to think I’d have a pretty good time. Please enjoy the poem today, compadres.

Who-tagonist?

There I stand at center stage,

peering out at the audience.

Silently watchful, ever careful.

I await a most precious applause.

Fiddling with my belt,

I tremble at their fickle gauge

as I am held by steely gaze.

I play a most important part

standing there at attention,

giving my most dogged monologues,

and begging for the crowd’s affirmation.

They don’t see the shadows in the audience,

or behind the stage.

They only see the light that trains upon me its great weight.

Come up close and then you’ll see,

Not my face but a mask it’ll be.

All this praise,

and all this love,

but look again into my face.

Don’t you recognize the porcelain?

At last a clap!

My worries melt away.

Not a man, nor a beast,

but now an icon.

I wouldn’t want to disappoint the fans!

Dreaming Of The Sea Again

The same dream again. I see the sea so close by and yet… It remains so far away. Miles and miles I could trek and ever still would not find it. One day though, I will find my place beside the sea. That place where I intend to laugh and play and hear the gulls. To smell that sweet sea air. Peace, well deserved.

Origami Heart

There abounds my heart,

fluttering, flying, floating down

and lightly alighting on the sand.

It looks as if a paper gull,

origami,

that ancient art.

A folded page in the shape of that

thing which beats beneath my breast.

So light and so airy,

held there by the breeze,

as if some old fairy.

No wishes to be wrought.

All I’ve got is what I brought.

Smell the salt and brine,

reminiscent of cheap wine.

Written there upon the page,

a memory perhaps,

or some old adage.

Can’t quite catch!

If only I could read it,

perhaps I could remember

how the world was lit.

If only for a little bit.

Wanna Get Married?

Afternoon, all. Here I am now, again, sitting here. I am thinking, wondering maybe. Dreaming of dark hair and red lips. Satisfied and unsatisfied, finding not that which I’d like to find when I go looking. Please enjoy the poem, friends.

Some Kind of Relationship

Do you think there’s someone out there?

Someone who just knows where?

They’ve found their place and it’s with you.

Just a table set for two.

An aching, tired body,

battered and bruised.

I sleep as soundly as I can,

for only in my sleep do I heal,

for only in my sleep do I not feel.

As heart it twists and stomach it turns

That feeling inside,

that something that burns.

Forget-me-nots come in with the tide.

The onion-hat of sultans sits so sublimely on his head.

A man who now alone rests among the dead.

Like before I’ve said,

all the gold’s been turned to lead.

A Play In Act III

Afternoon, friends. I have for you a poem that I hope would make you think. I hope it doesn’t hurt too much to read. Perhaps you’ll think it all an act? A performance? It sometimes makes it easier for me to visualize the plot line of my life with all its twists and turns and heartbreaks. To see it in the light a director would, perhaps attempting to change the more offensive elements to be more palatable for a more delicate audience. I’ll watch this play in my head, trying to pick out the characters and the plot holes. When one day it ends, who will be backstage?

Graceful Wings

Why’s it always spinning?

Really can’t feel like I’m winning.

Always here and waking up again.

Licking wounds back in my den.

I feel like an animal,

or perhaps a small child.

One whose cranial capacity may be considered somewhat challenged in the mass department.

There’s an innocence in that.

I only hope that when I bleed that it is red I bleed and green you see in my eyes.

Maybe nothing hurts quite so much as now.

I don’t know whether I am a good man or not.

I only know that when the curtain closes over these hazels eyes of mine,

the only one on stage I’ll still see is you

with all your graceful twirls and dances,

your beautiful soliloquys,

and those eyes I swear were glued to me throughout the show.

I suppose I’ll see you at the end,

the end when all the families and friends and spouses see the cast.

I only hope that you won’t fly away from me again.

In A Haze

Woken up again, I find myself responding to the light and to the chirping. To the stimuli, as I should. To all things, as I have before. Perhaps I must change again? I am too much the same as I’ve been, floundering in that sea of doubt and sameness that continues to rise and rise until it rests just below my chin. It stops there and waits, knowing I know of it and what I feel about it. Knowing the anxiety it causes me. Cognizant of the fact that its sentience and salience terrify me like nothing has terrified me before because, simply, the idea of stagnation is equitable in my mind to an endless torture. I find that hell would be preferable to purgatory in that I at least derive some comfort from knowing my torture, rather than not knowing my fate. Please enjoy the poem, friends.

Waking Up

Sick again

I keep doing this

I don’t know

It hurts again

I keep a head

Always in cycles

Moving in circles

Wondering why I did that same thing again

Why i laid my head to rest on that same lap again

To find my roots amongst the trees

And my legs against the seas

Tired of finding that i have weak knees

I’ll don my tricorne

And I’ll set off

Or I’ll set sail

And go there far beyond the pale

As friends and foes sit and wait,

I find myself not resigned to this fate

For it’s with destiny that i have a date