Hard to Tell

Michael Stang
Resistance Poetry
Published in
2 min readFeb 16, 2019
Subhamshome_Pixabay

Easy to see.

Nectarous bees pushed against a scented breeze off lavender cliffs where bluejays waited in perfect lee under blossoms leaking liquid goldenly.

But you wanted drama, this wasn’t enough.

Late summer pears their umber skins mushed juice, tapped by the little ones, channeled veins built from banana sluice, dried and shaped, those working hands scored. Got to get barrels filled down under dark bark way, up errant faces. Lift tears of wood spawned red as rich as a witche’s gift, corner apples epiphany winks towards wanderers fear. The sign says ‘Tou’, you mean you as you enter the treasured halls. Stools of mushroom grass stain your mind but you sing its praises, such is your new class — how does your body grow: slim, sexy, the way you waste your time wanting it? Or is there another mind in there, a mind of its own, crawling around in search of birth to an alien you don’t know. You’re fat and ugly now. They tell you not to say fat like fuck. Can’t do that so much when it’s you sagging, you bagging, you being flat … can you?

It’s the covenant of works at fault: Smash it, love it, smoke it, forget it, signal it back to yourself, push it on some-one else, see fit to take it back. Take it all back — but you can’t — It’s more than you will ever be.

I’m slipping between chapters. Eyes fall open to dream edges that mean everything. The race for speed waiting for me to catch up, waiting for me to tell them how good I am. The all community; serious waste.

I’ll do it myself or I won’t do it at all. Were you there when I was born? Did I need you then? My perfect self in the beginning was enough for my future. Why now, when I embrace my energy like never before and never will again if I listen to you. Sell somewhere else. Yeah, I know there is no one better than you, I read it in your tale. I get it, I suck.

I know why I’m not good, there’s nothing more, so I’ll take what I have: the suckiness, the attitude, my pens and pencils and papers and go find someone who will leave me alone. Yes that’s me dripping all over …

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