10 Poems | Everything that gives me sorrow, anguish, anxiety, or depressed me.
A Joyless Thursday
(written on Thursday)
Perchance you can spare joy?
I long for just a drop.
My well is dry, it leaked.
Any bit helps get me by.
I know I drink it fast.
I don’t ration it to last.
I suppose that’s the thing.
Many cracks, no time to fix.
More joy helps me live more.
I depend on that much.
Until a good enough tool
finds my hand, to fashion.
A pump, a drill, a pipe.
Joy can be given for free.
Joy can be rained if patient enough.
Or the way I must find it.
Joy one day will be built.
Until then
I will survive.
Joy is rain in this well.
Little by little.
And today is hot as hell.
But I will find it.
That Joy.
I will.
A World Unseen By Others
There is a Beauty in my head.
Wonderfully abstract waiting to be seen from every sofa bed.
I lack the means to craft this noble dream into something that can be spread.
I try and try as I might and every failure breaks my pencil lead.
There is no worse fear and dread
that one day what I love to imagine will never be read.
I will end up dead.
Nothing to show for life’s gift of many fated threads.
ADHD
I forgot my keys.
I left my wallet.
And I lost my phone.
What a day it is to get a car parking fee
with all this rushing going on I just want to call it a day
and go to sleep then wake up with anger and moan.
My chair broke.
My laptop cracked.
My leg got scratched.
Whenever deadlines are near I choke.
I lose track of time and I almost get sacked.
My brain is overloaded and detached.
So much effort just to focus.
I try my best but it goes unnoticed.
Living with ADHD your life is drained by unintentional hocus-pocus.
By getting help, I just may write my magnum opus.
Awaiting that Day
Death is an odd thing.
All around us and every day there it lives.
Normal as the birth it follows, life is death, because of what it gives.
A certain sadness from life’s celebrations.
That which is the dark comes from the light.
A truth of something we have to accept as alright.
But it’s kinda of hard
so I never think about it.
Just push that thought to the mind’s back.
Ignore it and drink some cognac.
Until that day when it finally comes.
An empty room with no more voice.
All is silent, no more new memories to rejoice.
Bad Ideas
Bad ideas lead to learning
like a child’s stomach churning
after hiding broken eggs
the smell of what ifs in their beguiled happenings.
Bad ideas are life’s regretful actions.
Like throwing rocks in the air in make believe distractions
falling far too close to tender heads who then turn and give talks for your infractions.
Bad ideas are words without well balanced thoughts.
Cognitions in abstract, which lack a truer concrete form to a sudden lips cross.
Emotions without filter, need a double check once said, for being off kilter.
Bad ideas are bad.
Bad ideas are sad.
Bad ideas make me mad.
Procrastination
Cloudy haze.
Importance obscured.
Cogs unmoved.
Everything is less than effective.
Wandering, wandering mind.
Slowest thoughts, yet time flows faster.
Thoughts of one.
Then thoughts of all– to be and have been and are.
Returning one thought, repeat and repeat.
Wasted effort.
Energy-less.
Sleep dawns.
Anxiety, Worry– all forethought and expected.
Knowledge it seems to lack much assistance at least at this time.
Focusing naught, still.
I should, I need.
Tragic, I can’t.
I suppose I will seek out help.
Scars
Everyone bares scars.
Unavoidable
inexorable
and
relentless.
Of all and any that is thought.
Even some unimagined.
Possibly greater than most.
Some
too small to notice.
Worse, no one can guess.
Some are fresh.
Some are old.
Many are concealed.
while others are apparent.
Who has them?
Who does not?
Less reading minds or true spoken thought
none shall really know.
Wounds can be stitched
lasting but briefly a lost thought
or a very long dream.
Other times not.
Those can fester.
Healing naught.
If it does not
it will only rot.
Silence should be fought.
Sleepless Nights
Sleepless nights march through my head
straining for rest that does not come.
Tiredness weeps from my bones
yearning for my eyes to shut tight.
The blankets hold little comfort tonight.
with all this thrashing about.
Thoughts go on a rampage, one after another.
Trickling from a dozen branches and reaching a hundred roots.
Where are the sheep that will provide distractions?
A comfort that quells tension?
A slow breath to ease
and a thought that relaxes into a dreamy abyss?
I can only dream while I am awake
Sunken Down
Drifting aimlessly about.
My sight sinks beyond the light ahead.
Under this night I cast my doubt.
For barely I stand with these withered thoughts.
Legs collapsing, I surrender.
Frustration foaming, bubbling to the top.
Floating down with no power to steer.
No direction to seek.
Subdued by a sea of pressure that I can’t comprehend.
A gasp of air drenches my lungs.
Struggling to breathe, my eyes glaze over.
I fight, I fright.
I wish to scream, I would.
If not silenced through the depths.
I no longer see.
To make sense of this is just not to be.
Fragmented recollections are all what’s left.
Nothing follows, nothing forms.
Dissolving into an intangible void.
This is how I feel.
Sunk below.
Which to Believe
Only
seeing what I see
and
hearing what I hear
even less is understood.
So
Truth is rather murky
must I
borrow another’s senses.
A glimpse of difference
sight, sound, and meaning.
Is that too the truth?
Or
combination therefore.
Which to regard
and to what degree I will bend.
I don’t know.
Regardless
I still move ahead
until something becomes somewhat clear.
Off Beat Off Kilter 