Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Whipped and Rinkled

lay me down in fairy rings,
bury me in grass and leaves,
let the world spin round and round.
leave me behind, world, round and round.

young men oft remember dreams,
they age while they sleep.
more time, less time than it seems,
lost promises they cannot keep.

wander through the trees on wings,
leave behind pedestrian trappings;
give me a gift that dances, sings,
and never think of lower things:

lost in a world that can't be right,
where all my days are filled with light,
where all my nights are lit by moon,
where when I sleep, ne'er wake too soon.

lost in my head while eyes glued shut,
can't struggle to wake--I don't know I'm not.
can't fight to wake--buried too deep,
in leaves, in grass, in magic, in sleep.

when the mares come crashing down,
chasing me through the sea,
I hop and jump and leap and try...
but my wings are taken from me.

when the mares run me down,
bury me in hooves and feet,
the pain comes rolling in on sounds
but I cannot wake in sweat from sleep.

when the mares take me away,
punishment for staying too long,
I long for wings and light and trees,
for the days when I was strong.

when the mare leave me alone
and I huddle in the dark,
I cannot save myself from this,
cannot heal my aching heart.

I miss the days that felt so long,
and waking tired from my sleep;
I miss the early-morning dawn,
and colors that were all unique.

lost in my head while eyes glued shut,
I struggle to wake--I think I'm not.
can't seem to wake--buried too deep,
in leaves, in grass, in magic, in----

WAIT! I'm free!palms to eyes to scrub away sleep,
sit up, decaying leaves a-wreathed...
yawn... roll over... five more years, please.

Thursday, July 19, 2012

This Isn't Melancholy

sorrow tried to consume me
but I beat it back with a stick.
anger tried to defend it,
but I gave it a good lick.
happiness tried to lift me,
but I popped all its balloons.
freedom tried to blow me away,
but I was wearing lead shoes.
disappointment tried to convert me,
but I know what I believe.
guilt tried to distract me,
but I know the lies it weaves
love tried to free me,
but I locked myself deep inside.
betrayal tried to kill me,
but I whipped its hide.

apathy sidled up to me,
watched as I pushed them away,
waited 'til I slept--then held me,
slowly turning the world grey.
when I woke it offered me peace,
and I took it in my hands.
it never tricked me, never tried,
and I never suspected its true plans.

Saturday, July 14, 2012

Abused: My Friend (Mature)

Mature Content

there's nothing going right,
it's all going wrong.
it's all my fault--
I just don't belong.

Daddy never hurt me,
but now he's left and gone.
new Daddy changed Mommy,
I'm punished for her wrongs.

he beats me and threatens
and there's no going back.
I'm bruised, broken, fading,
my body's limp and slack.

he steps up the torture,
since the "little" does "no good."
I close my eyes. I give up.
I'd suicide if I could.

a hand catches the belt,
the fist, the stick, the chain.
he sees eyes of wild
and fears it won't ever be the same.

it's not me standing tall,
I'm still curled up deep inside.
a new voice whispers to me,
"I'll protect you. It's alright."

new Daddy sees the challenge,
and steps it up again,
but she's too fast and strikes first.
I know he's defeated then.

she tells me she'll be there
when he does it next,
will stop it before it starts,
to just close my eyes and ex't.

she apologizes for taking so long
to wake up inside my head,
but now she'll be there forever,
to protect and help me mend.

there's nothing going right,
but now I have a shield.
she takes over when I'm hurt,
fights when I just yield.

Sunday, July 1, 2012

Thirty-Two Months of Truth

The thing about giving something your all, about holding nothing back, is that if it isn't good enough, you have nothing more to give. If you work somewhere where you're not measured against others' performance but against your own, and you always give it your best in a area where there's no room for improvement, you're going to look like a slacker standing beside those who slacked off early in the game, played with the numbers instead of being honest with them.

I'm honest with my numbers, because only then can I trust them to be honest with me. People aren't like that. I can give everything at face value, and people still play games with me, with their words.

Give me print over verbal interaction any day. Give me hard stats before intrapersonal interaction. Give me something that won't change, regardless how you look at it. Give me a language that won't change its meaning.

Give me a goal to work towards that doesn't change, a set of expectations that remain the same for my tenure, and stop trying to play games with my numbers.

You can look at your month-to-day call statistics and make what judgments you want, but any true statistician knows that any group below thirty is not true to the mean. You can take your pages of fifteen shifts and go fuck yourself, but if you want real numbers, you come see me and my chart of thirty-two months of truth.