You must restart your computer by springloaded, literature
Literature
You must restart your computer
I thrive on routines:
alarms and lists and average means.
I often feel I am a shell.
Just made of tiny solar cells.
Composed of merely matrix code,
capable of only single modes:
neutral, glad, or self-demeaning,
Overloading and blue-screening.
I am refurbished, new; upgraded,
but old software leaves me feeling jaded.
Complex things I must compute
Come get me, user, press reboot!
i've written more poetic things
about turmoil
and my grief
better metaphors on anger and the urge to find relief
from the constant nagging in my mind
negating every voice that said i'd find
a reason
or a person
or that one day this could be true;
that i could fit inside that outline
while you stared up at the blue;
but this time on the sidewalk
I found you.
i try to rid myself of hate:
a survival instinct at its best.
for everytime i've felt that
possibly
there was a reason to let down my defense,
i've been left less than impressed.
cue: a world
with as little metaphors as needed
no 'cavity within my chest'
no deeper meaning i've suppressed.
i imagine sinking my teeth
into some type of still-warm flesh.
no justifications of deserving,
no feelings of sadness or detest.
i am merely an animal;
i sit here
and digest.
Did you know I sometimes run myself
into the walls
to tell people that you
watched me fall
and all the bruises I sustained, I told visitors you gave me
so I'd never feel alone.
I did this while you weren't at home.
And when you say hello
no appologies will make you go.
I wish you'd care enough
to do this on
your own
or say "this hurts me more than it hurts you"
because its true.
and I do everything around here,
don't pick up the slack,
its nothing new.
a marginal disappointment by springloaded, literature
Literature
a marginal disappointment
I chose you
because I drew a heart around your feet,
while you stood staring at the sky.
Don't look
But why
Don't look i'm almost done
Both of us,
we're on the sidewalk
with your place outlined in chalk.
We were standing in the sun
and as I tried to step inside
I found it was only big enough
for one.
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe.
She had so many children she didn't know what to do!
The pregnancy scares were becoming too much
because fifteen kids was far more than enough,
"Or was it sixteen," the old woman once thought,
there was that one kid from jamaica she bought..
"But he's not really mine", she thought again,
"and i never did name him, so I'll call him Ben."
Ben was a hard worker but he tended to slack
a good work ethic is what all kids tend to lack.
"God damnit, Ben!" the old woman would yell
she kicked him out of her shoe and cursed him to hell.
"I'm counting my children once and for all!"
but the original