Open-Form

Stuck

My fingertips scrape at the dirt which bounds me in a trap

The light lies far above me seeming like an endless gap

My heart beats fast, my veins pulsate;

I cannot wait; I will not last

To light above I must escape

This dreadful fate; I’ve had enough

I’m stuck in a hole and can’t get out! I’ll die without some air

I’ll dig and dig and move real quick; I hope that I'll get there

 

It’s filling in! A solid base to finally stand on

Right up on my tippy toes I spy the light of dawn

But the promised day is far away I must go dig some more

‘Till my skin bleeds, my poor hands ache; my body’s broke and sore

The sun and trees are such a tease; my anger knows no bound

In my hole the echo of my stressful scream resounds

I’m stuck in a hole and can’t get out! I loathe each coming day

I need my work to finish soon, to take the pain away

 

I try to do more digging but my muscles won’t allow

The tears are streaming down my cheeks; I’m done, I must avow

I drop down to my knees and question why I so deserve

To rot inside my hole until the death of every nerve

Silence, I receive, which tells me that I've got no help

I just shut my eyes until I’m taken somewhere else

I’m stuck in a hole and can’t get out, but I don’t really care

I’m tired, drained, sad, and doomed to wallow in despair

 

I lay on the damp ground and wipe the tears all from my face

And think about the thing which took me right from God’s sweet grace

How could I expect to escape this confining space,

When I’m the one who dug the fucking hole in the first place?

The Beauty of Humanity

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

Then why don’t I feel beautiful?

I’m constantly being pounded down,

Deeper and deeper into the ground,

By words released by the highly unwise;

From the greedy faces with malicious eyes

Whence good looks are all that’s romanticized

 

There are two ways to win “Most Beautiful Face":

First, do your own makeup; improve your own grace

Second, mangle other faces; inflict outward pain

Until only your own vile mug remains

And you’d think the latter would be met with shame,

Yet it’s 'strategy' in our complex game

A strategy as timeless as kindness and wisdom

But marking the human demise we all speak of

 

While, to some, malevolence is a surprise,

A chosen few will duly rise

From your destructive words—your evil uncurl’d

And exposed is your wretched face to the world

Toxicity will only take you so far;

You’ve left the door to your heart ajar!

Victory built from destruction cannot be sustained;

It’s everything ventured, and nothing gained

 

Soon you’ll be trapped in your world of hate

Unable to reach your own iron gate,

Locked by a key you created, then lost,

For pessimists pay the ultimate cost:

To watch the growing glamour of others

As makeup is donned on sisters and brothers

Of a race which builds for common value,

Not for a dumb, trivial medallion

 

The immortalized faces will stare as you rot

And look down upon your malevolent spot,

And just as you’re going to wither away

They’ll put some makeup upon your face

The Efficiency Formula

When was it last that you sat down and thought?

Not pondered or mulled, but thought about naught?

I’ll tell you: it’s been the same length of time

That you, Busy Bee, have been here, alive

 

That’s dumb. Daydreaming’s a crystal-clear weakness

My relentless effort defines my uniqueness

I get it; you’re mimicking everyone else

But examine the state of your own mental health

Quickness currently clutches the crown

Yet now, more than ever, we’re feeling quite down

Let’s take a long moment to assess our speed

And extrapolate just what it is that we need:

 

How ‘bout I brush at my whites while I shower?

Go thirty over to save half an hour?

Plus, talk on the phone while I dang’rously speed?

The thievery of time is what satiates my greed

Or scarf down my meals like I’m awfully famished?

Ignore my friends and kin like they’ve vanished?

And sleep less and less, since time means more dollars?

But what use are earnings when death will soon call us?

 

This type of flawed thought is abhorrently normal

And stems from our primal sense to be conformal

Efficiency surely will not satisfy;

The ambition should be to self-gratify

 

By pledging ourselves to those who adore us

By ignoring those who sadly abhor us

By disarming time with a vow to ignore it

By promising life that we’ll slowly explore it

By giving back greater amounts than we take

By sharing with all, whatever we make

By finishing whichever tasks we uptake

By owning whenever we make a mistake

 

The efficiency formula is but a guise;

Speed is for those with misguided eyes

For the mark of the few who are truly the wise

Is the skill to selectively immobilize

The Proper Answers

You’re not good enough

For you, but I’m great for myself

I have morals and passion and patience and health

You’re not strong enough

Strength is a malleable phrase

I’m strong in my heart and my mind and my grace

You’re not smart enough

But I’m surely able to learn

And that smashes all limits on what I can earn

You’re not cute enough

But my own eyes measure beauty

Looks are set by how I choose to see

 

You’re a failure

And yet I know I succeed

I think and I love and I eat and I breathe

You’re embarrassing

I’m merely striving for fun

And if I act as myself then I’ve already won

You’re too anxious

But worry is what makes me attentive

I embrace it then focus on being inventive

You ruin everything

‘Transform’ is a much better word

An objective view of ruin is absurd

 

Don’t dream

But that’s where I draw motivation

My vibrant lifeblood; my enticing narration

Don’t give

Then how can I possibly receive?

Selflessness builds a rapport to achieve

Don’t try

Oh, what a ludicrous thought

To try is the only certainty I’ve got

Don’t live

Never. Forever I’ll chant:

Everyone on earth has something to grant

Focus

To harvest complete synergy of mind

Is an irritating game of time

A dedicated few will make the climb

To achieve the great transcendent prime

 

You’re wrestling with obstacles abound,

Which shackle masses to the ruthless ground

Persistent acuity must be found

To be the lonesome victor who is crowned

 

Your loved ones desperately will tug you back

But steadfast must you be to stay your track

And focus not on attributes you lack,

But those to swear you leader of the pack

 

The fee is to all earthy things, divorce

To mobilize our sedentary course

The journey will exhaust you of your force;

Barred is any smidgen of remorse

 

As death’s cold slap admonishes mortality,

Demanding that you question your reality,

Instantly you’ll realize the gravity

Of spending life devoid of geniality

 

It’s a sacrifice not worth the scant reward;

Nothing gained for everything endured

To everyone you knew, you are deplored

And all you built was meaningless accord

 

Focus, but focus on love

Poetry Sucks

Why, oh why’d I ever try

To craft and rhyme and mystify?

Now, I must lie “my words are sly,”

But to think that, I must be high

I’m out! I’m done! The barrel’s dry

Of all the hope I had to buy

Yet, I still claim I’m bound to fly,

But empty is the arid sky

And every day I still apply

What effort hasn’t gone awry

And strain and vie and sigh and cry

As all the messages imply:

Your colleagues, they will pass you by

Your failures, they will amplify

Your progress will stand on standby

In all, you will amount to nigh

But still, I refuse to comply

For poetry, I will supply

And at the deadlocked market, pry

And if I fail, then I’ll retry

And even as I say goodbye

To all my life’s sweet alumni

I’ll have one fact to gratify:

That I slung words until I died

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