He’s sure he has
All the answers,
At least the facile
Ones that don’t require
Much thought or introspection.
It’s been this way
For a long time,
The result of being told
He’s not good enough and
Shouldn’t think for himself.
He vaguely remembers
The time period when
His mind closed,
Leaving only a small opening
For nonsense to get in.
A brutal thirst for anything to
Allay the unquenchable,
Overwhelming yearning to
Climb a fanciful mountain.
Eviscerate every challenge real,
Imagined, more the latter.
Increase the dose to maintain.
Tread water until the next wave.
A sense of invincibility demands
Perpetual tending, sustenance.
Stand in the dark staring
At the same apparition.
Surveying the rows of houses,
I am struck by their drab
Sameness, a kind of uniform
Dilapidation rendered stark
By a tepid sun. Inside,
Dreams die by the thousands.
Gregarious and confident
On the outside, trembling
And tentative on the inside.
The sense that he’s never
Really good enough, no matter
How blustery his exterior.
No sense of his utter inability
To connect with anyone on a
Deeper level, as a human being.
Each encounter becomes another
Opportunity to use someone else
To bolster waning self-esteem.
He remembered the one instance
His father spent time with him.
An autumn day, the smell of
Nature invigorating. Quietly
Walking along, leaves alternately
Crunching and squishing.
Rivulets sparkling; a bubbling,
Gurgling, comforting symphony.
An arm around his shoulder,
Only that one time.
On his deathbed,
He croaks out something
That sounds like,
“I love you,” to his
Daughter, having been
Unable to express it at
Any other time,
A sadly hollow gesture
That would have
Meant much more if
He had had the courage
To say it along the way.
At the supermarket,
Averting her eyes,
Many recognize
What’s going on,
She wishes they didn’t.
Struggling through the day,
Not yet in a place
Where she believes
In her worth,
That she doesn’t
Deserve this.
Made to feel
Exceedingly small,
Unimportant,
An afterthought,
In his formative years.
Dominated, controlled,
Berated, violated.
Left to fend for himself
Without any sense
Of direction,
Set loose
With jagged protrusions
That slash the
People he comes
In contact with.
Wake before the waning hours
When circumstance no longer humors a
Dream postponed, wish delayed,
Experience avoided somnambulantly.
Like endless afternoons
Flirting with maybes and sometimes.
Occasion just missed.
