She insists that she
Loves doing this
Soulless thing that
Makes her a lot of money,
Yet one can’t help but
Wonder whether,
As a child,
She looked at the clouds
And thought to herself
That she wanted to be
What she is now.
Confronted with a conundrum,
Summarily dismissed as
Not important, relegated to a
Dark basement where notions are
Left to rot until rediscovered by
Unsuspecting eyes, flummoxed by
Distressing absence of insight,
A bug scampering away when
A light is turned on,
Festering complications left
Unanswered by a staggering
Scarcity of sapience, valor.
You may stare at the screen
All you wish.
Everything you need will be
Provided.
All questions will be answered,
You will not feel a thing.
A numbing of the frontal lobe
Is normal.
Enjoy complete apathy
Punctuated with rising rage
Misdirected against
The innocent.
We count on your help.
You win!
Stand there with
Your trophy while your
Shambles of a life
Lays at your feet and
You pretend that the
Reward is far greater
Than what you squandered,
Not that you’ll ever
Admit it, that would
Require some measure of
Courage, in short supply
In the land of swagger.
As a child, she had to
Fight for what was hers,
Struggle against the
Feeling that she was being
Judged or wasn’t good
Enough in some way, that
She wasn’t really loved
Or accepted, didn’t matter.
Not so many years later,
She became externally
Successful, with all the
Trimmings and trappings,
But inwardly vowed to
Never again let anyone
Tell her what to do, she’d
Strike first and show them
Who was boss, she’d be in
Control all the time, a
Sullen emperor staring down
From her tarnished throne,
Giving the signal to
Sacrifice yet another
Miserable underling to quench
Her thirst for dominance.
A blossom
Doesn’t care about
Anything other than
Being a flower.
Beautiful.
Someone comes
Along and deems it
Inadequate,
Frightening,
Unimportant,
Strangles it.
The plant lies
Dormant,
Anticipating
Another day.
Once in a while,
Leave the lights and excitement,
Take the obligatory trip
To a sad town where
Sad people tell sad stories about
Things that never happened.
When given a choice, she embraced
The path that made her blood boil.
Lashing out instinctively, a fight for
Self-preservation in every exchange.
Days spent making enemies,
Cultivating discomfort.
Evenings spent pursuing an
Online connection, anybody.
Unable to escape the din,
Unwilling to turn it down.
I offer my heart, my vision, my passion.
The inside of my being exposed,
Vulnerable, yearning for validation, a
Scrap of hope, shred of approval, an
Outstretched helping hand. Please
See who I am, potential, promise.
Intangibles fall unrecognized
Before timorous eyes.
