Said the poet at confession

 
I was bold enough
to give my contempt to the occasion.
There's a call grabbing attention
I hate any love
which means servitude,
that is in a programming grid,
announcing dates and times
as criminal sentences.

I undo the ties
and the bright smiles of commitment,
and the equipment that fits
like a clown costume;
I look like a clown,
and I resent the song
but I love dancing
which leads straight to the bed,
where laughter is always welcome.

Role invitations appear
like death sentences by the committee,
and the snacks served,
with its cyanide seasonings,
to doctors who want to suffocate themselves
with such paradisiacal aphrodisiacs.

I'm pleased to have been here
for a long enough time
to be able to leave
and I don't need to be shown the door
with your kindness and come back often.
In retreat, there is no sex
except for the perfunctory flesh,
no offering of love:
The sealed and calm will to seek,
adopt the model posture
and believe it in appearances,
raise glasses and sip...

There is no love that offers victories
but not unmaking the beds
there is time left behind.
In all my dealings with this,
I tried, then ran away,
Sometimes I didn't run away alone.

There is no love that offers victories
but it can undo many beds.

 
I wander the outskirts of sanity
an odd one out to humanity
I don't fit with the normals

it hurts this feeling of isolation
I have friends in nature feeling connected to the sky
to the earth below me

I hear her voice

people view me as strange, disconnected, dangerous
though I've never harmed anyone

I talk to the air
I talk to my green black chair
it listens to me not saying a word
I imagine one of the long-deceased psychiatrists is sitting there

talking about my mommy issues
it seems I hate her
for passing me the gene that would outcast me

the happiness that keeps me going is all that is natural
the animals, the sky, the flowers, and the trees around me
they vibrate on another level and I can hear them

they comfort my soul
lending credence to my thoughts
the spirits are willing to talk
if you are willing to listen

they will lead you somewhere off the beaten path
if you don't show respect Mother Earth will kill you

I've learned the universe gives back what you give it

I heard your voice today
feels like forever but it was clear as day
you told me one simple phrase
something to darken the current sun's rays
'do it' as I gave myself a shave
looking at my neck I did not feel brave
rather I felt weak and sad that you
still have a room it's true
but you're voice reflects you now
weak and no longer in control no how
I finished my task without a single drop of red
with your weak voice trailing off in my head
little did you know I did listen to you in a way
I did it and I cut you out of me today.

Shall I begin with being a whisper lost in the wind
I am nothing as I don't applause with the crowd
behind a veneer of elegance life secret buried deep
I confess to the weightlessness of my existence

believe me, there are stories I dare not begin to tell
I am burdened with regrets sorrows and griefs
they are waiting to be told, eager for the spill
I hold on tightly to sanity as I narrow them in verses

Believe me when I say I am the unspoken desires
by them who dance at the mouth of the abyss
where dreams flicker with attractions of distant fires
serving up elixirs as shadows of promises flirts

Don't take me for who you believe I am
I am the ghost of a dance in shadows flickering
 and wafting with promises of sweet cohesion
as putty bubble gums chewed thoroughly

You see, I am a folded piece of paper
my secrets stay within forever untold
you may dance in my arms with abandon
but the ballroom of my heart is closed

there's nothing to tell and nothing to show
I will close this verses expecting no encore

It's all about the money
and a little vengeance
and a bigger need to fix the past--
all the fuck-ups
that I stood by and watched
unallowed to steer correctly
because of nepotism
and downright jealous bitches.

I'm the last one, standing.
They're gone.
I'm not.
(there's always more of "them" waiting in the wings)
I'm finally the supervisor, and
I have no filter left, after all these years.
All the new people think it's great,
think I have balls
(I do--figuratively)

I actually just stopped caring
(about CEO's and symantics)
and started shooting from the hip
getting things done my way
overstepping
going above (talking) heads
to get approvals
for what I know, needs to happen.

I'll probably get my wrist slapped
by co-workers (bosses)young enough to be my children
and I'll give them that look
that implies :

"Well if you had just stopped dicking around
talking everything to death and
sticking it on someone else's desk
then I wouldn't be the Dragon Lady
getting it done without you"

(^^I might even say that out loud, too)

Nope.
Don't care that your feathers are ruffled.
Do you think I'm busting your balls,
embarrassing you?
That's the sign of the master enigma, I am--
you have to think about my intentions
for hours
until you figure out if I like you
hate you
or just don't give two shits

....and then....

you conclude that the answer is your choice--
it's whatever you want it to be
and I'm totally cool
with what you've decided my opinion of you, is.

You see,
I'm still here
because I have a personal need
to want to fix where it all went wrong
and leave it in a good place
for those who will
(hopefully not break the laboratory)
once I retire.

There are some that wish I had your job
but I've gone as high as I want to.
I don't want to be the fall guy
when the really bad stuff happens.

I would quit today, if I could
but I owe it to the past
to erase the last of the ghosts
that destroyed morale, lives,
and I owe it to the future
to torch the barn
where the rats in training, live.

So suppose that I must confess
For what pray tell but I digress
The crimes I see inside of me
Best left to childhood memory

Some secrets better left untold
To feel the pain as we grow old
This is what I confess to you
I died before the morning dew

To hide among the common thread
From dreams that burn with words she said
Admitting I was left alone
Aches within me a broken bone

The greatest fear that's left in me
That love is something I can't see
A hiding man undercover
Little boy left by his mother

I wish I had more time for self
to spend as I thought fit,
weeks and months and years, such wealth,
before my time's forfeit.

But, alas, duty calls
the irksome working type,
and time merely palls
this living on life's rind.

I wish I could peel away the skin
reveal the life that lies,
just beyond, almost in,
the vision of my eyes...

But in the life where I was born
time without end looms clear,
neither leisure or work or day or morn
just the endless rest, I fear.

Impotent to mourn the losses
isolated child in despair
in solitude and unprotected
inhumaneness, unable to bear

Defenceless in adolescence
unwarranted intrusions, reprehensible
personal advantages always seized
motivations incomprehensible

Braving subsequent traumas
deprivation of careless youth
grieving dramatic demise
alone aside the harrowing truth

Profound erudition of means of survival
vast the promising avenues of escape
shameful moments are unrepented
buried deeply, never to undrape

Adorning masks in drunkenness
consuming toxins to feel unhurt
retreating from abhorrent deeds
presence apathetic and inert