A Few Depressing Poems and Experimental Writing
(I add to these poems as they arise from time to time)
They tell me
but can’t they see that breathing is not my problem?
I — am — breathing.
I have the lungs of an elephant …
it is just that I am losing air
despite these deep breathes.
You see, I am riddled with holes
from the countless times
that I have been shot down.
Elephants do not die easily
but their long memory
makes for heavy steps.
My ribs cage my heart
in much the same way that my skull imprisons my mind.
It is not so much to keep you out
that I have learned that it is wise
to hold myself back.
I understand the problem.
When I look in the mirror,
a lost child looks back
my true face
is terribly disfigured —
this is the only face
that others seem to see.
My Grandmother’s Grave
I never visited my grandmother’s grave
not because I did not love her
I loved her very much
but she was never in her body
why would she dwell within it now?
Although I love you
this is something that I keep to myself
like a photo in my shirt’s left pocket
pressed closely to my heart