I Tried

A Poem by J.I.M

this is just a poem about me venting and stuff

Broken down and shaken up my life here is an empty cup…

Dreams shattered… knowing something’s there…

But yet I’m still broken…

My mind.. a war zone of broken bones and bloody tears….

Fighting the past but yet being overcome.. by my past and my mistakes…

One by one… my resolve is undone… not even caring… because the oven says I’m done…

The empt7y shell cracks and withers away..

The shell that used to be me..

But now I’m twisted image…. Everyone is disappointed to see….

Molded by society… this cage and shadow so cold…

So far there are too many cracks in this withering shell for their liguid trust to be holden…

For their love, trust and admirations are too golden….

For my wrotting insides to have beholden…

He looks down on me… smiles but yet goes to the accusor’s table… and riddles out my plee…

In terms that these constricting chains don’t speak, feel or hear….

For I am no one…

And I am lost in no man’s land….

They say,to let your conscience be your guide but what use is it when your mind is too damaged by those hurting words that mommy and daddy forget that they spoke and think my plans for life are just one big blasted joke……

I feel like I’m being choked…

Choked by the endless knotted rope of the anticipating uncontrolled stroke...

When life hits me hard and knocks me down on my backside and keeps blarring the white twisted noise…

Become the nightmarish reality of my creative dream…

my dream of to imagine a heavy bass cannon

and keep going no matter how crazy or stupid it seemed

when the cage’s copper wires closed in and squeezed my heart out of my head and into my hands…

where it slipped and fell like mistakenly placed pots and pans…

He said to look at my own two hands…

that they weren’t my hands but what he related to a zombie’s missing pair…

he never tried to understand, how I try to put two and two together and ponder why I never ended up with four…

to see that under this smile there is a broke down, bent out of shape lost boy…

that just wants to see his father smile and truly be proud of what he brought to the table…

Not just the countless cp’s and the umpteenth e-mail that states my “struggles” of the week….

No not just the problems that everybody else’s parents don’t know what to do with….

I want them to see the potential in me and step back and let me set it free….

Instead of putting me down and pressing me hard with their disapproving gaze that bends and breaks my resolve to do at least something right and drains me of me…

replaces the emptiness with what’s not me and walks in the shadows and builds up the signature monster personality..

until they find their son through the darkness…

the darkness that’s not their lost and alone son that they know has talent and potential…

but the monster that was imprinted from all the questioning thoughts that conjured because they forgot to ponder how their lost and alone son…

added two and two together..

but somehow never got four.....

like a steak… my soul’s skin has been seared and cooked… sealed and locked…

never again to grow and learn….

And forever more the lost and alone two year old…

Splashing in that same puddle of mistakes…

And as time goes on… the two year old stays a two year old..

And as time goes on.. the puddle becomes a pool…

That pool becomes a brook… that brook becomes a stream…

And eventually as time goes on and countless mistakes are added to what once was a puddle..

And now is an obsidian dense ocean…. Where that same two year old is engulfed in and is not seen as the two year old he truly is as his actions and appearance continue to show….

But is perceived as the ocean he is consumed by… the mistakes sealing the split cracks and missing pieces… that he was forced to leave behind to force the image of himself he ever so wanted to show….

Disappointment after disappointment the two year old sees….

His resolve engine is running out of steam…

The two year old sees the endless darkness at the end of his hopeless tunnel..

The torment..

The fury..

The that’s not me’s ...

And let’s the ocean consume the seared and resolve empty shell that floated not into satisfaction… but plummitted down into the false but real fate