I am the problem

Watching love drive off

 

 

I am the problem

 

From where I sit,

this crowded street of frowning faces and lying eyes

meander past the mom and pop facades with kids in tow…

tethered by their wants

and constant whining…

 

now glaring at me

as if… I am the problem

 

I wave them off in my best oceanic gesture,

casting salty aspirations to the ground around my feet…

all the while keeping my fitted

thoughts in check

 

For opposite this asphalt divider

of pot holes and swept debris...

she sits, twisting her chocolate hair around her finger,

staring at the clock

 

Wearing her favorite red dress,

glistening crimson nail and lip paint...waiting

 

The violent sun finds my shoulders

scattering grey clouds

between the concrete and neon

folded on the structure facing my perch

 

A single drop of sweat rolls down my cheek…

on this day more will come

 

Mixed, blended, hidden or defined

by tears held back…losing the battle

I take in the second story window,

shade slightly drawn…and think

 

Jumping at the knock,

a quick mirrored touch up and fanciful bounces…

smiles lead her to

his rugged features and fat wallet

 

The engine idles, I can smell the fumes

dancing across my nostrils…sickened

 

Floating the steps, they/she looks happy, then at me

her head drops, sad or thankful…probably

Engine revs, my eyes fill

as thunderstorms erupt on my face…they/she disappear

 

My heart near death…beating slow

it reels on this day…

others, in their mindless pandering

and nose followed directions, stare and point

 

I spit, reaching our heart encased initials

carved in the stained and tiring sidewalk

 

My chest throbs, legs weak and nonexistent,

transparent of hurt and glass filtered wishes…

Pointing back at those who would judge,

I shout…

 

I am the problem!

 

 

Author's Note

Thank you for reading

Reviews

[Emerald Seas]

You write with your heart on your sleeve, Jack. You don't know how often I have wondered if this type of thought... is THE issue - my old issue (if there was an issue at all from the other's perspective). I am so open and literal, and have never had an instance to hide anything in my life - that reading between the lines of what is or is not said - ugh... it is torture. I can SEE this, feel it, and be in that moment - but still wondering...

[Jack...]

My friend, you are an absolutely beautiful woman, These issues have a meaning, but I am not one who would know. I can tell you that this poem of mine, I have felt this before a few different times and it burns, the pain seers itself into your soul. You think that you are worthless and life is not worth it...I know...I have been there, but there is always a new day waiting just over the horizon. You my friend know love, the good and the painful part of it, but you know it. Thank you so much for reviewing my poetry and for being my friend. I cherish your friendship.

[emmajoy]

This is like a confession or a turning inside out of a man, exposing his emotions almost to the point of torture. So very sad. Yet, superbly written, wonderful phrasing, '.. The engine idles, I can smell the fumes ~ dancing across my nostrils…sickened' - can't help thinking of hell's sulphur, maybe the place where the man's found himself.. used, abused, found guilty by his own pain. This has a very special voice, Jack.

[Jack...]

Thank you so very much sweet Emma. Your kind words are music to my ears. I have felt this pain in the past and it is no fun.

[End.]

You are able to paint a tremendously detailed picture that makes me feel every step of the speaker's trek down the sidewalk. Well done!

[Jack...]

Thank you so much sir. Thanks so much for the visit.

[Rita L. Sev]

This is the other, tarnished side of that romantic coin. When it goes awry, no matter the reason, the spurned lover is left feeling that he is the reason. I like that you went with prose for this one, a story-telling mode that takes the reader on this little stroll down Regret Lane. Great piece

[Jack...]

Thank you so much Rita, I truly do appreciate you.

[Forgotten]

I loved the narrative behind this and wow it left me speechless, this was beautiful. You have talent that I wish I had, I better get practising :)

[Jack...]

Thank you so much my friend. I appreciate you visiting and leaving such a kind review.

[Forgotten]

Well a brilliant writer as yourself deserves to be appreciated for his work and hear many praise for it. I hope to be writing at the level that you do someday

[Jack...]

I am sure you write very well. I will have to sneak over and read some of yours. Don't sell yourslef short my friend, poetry is what we feel, not how well we know how to write.

[Forgotten]

Haha thank you, poetry is the manifestation of the writers heart, no matter the skill of writing it is always beautiful nonetheless :)

[Mark]

With respect, I must disagree with your premises here, both "forgotten" and Jack. It is my belief that one's diary is the place for formless recollections of thoughts, both elated and despondent. In order to become poetry, it is my belief that the feelings must be sculpted, made more attractive, more approachable and more relateable. Michaelangelo, after all, would not have glared lovingly at a formless block of granite, appreciating the image he imagined,the loveliness he planned, now would he? He would combine his imagination with patience, with skill, with hard work and with the appropriate tools necessary to liberate the beauty that was always there, but which none but he could see!
I don't expect to win any friends with this comment, but perhaps I might influence a few people...

[Jack...]

My friend, everyone is entitled to their own opinion. For years I though free verse was crap, but once I leanred to understand it I appreciated it. I still believe poetry is what we feel inside and if I am not as polished as someone else writing it, it does not eliminate it from the ranks of poetry. I agree, we dont need facebook posts or tweets on here claiming to be poetry.

[Forgotten]

I have to agree with Jack here I mean yes of course he may have created sculptures beautiful to the eye, but there is nothing more beautiful than nature itself, the raw imagery of simple mountains, it is just like poetry, it does not have to be perfectly formed to be beautiful and poetry it is the emotion and heart behind the writing

[Mark]

No hard feelings on either side. There are as many schools of thought in Poetry as there are colors to paint your walls. I have just read my first piece by Forgotten and have read many by Jack (one of which inspired a response-piece; see "The Ravin"). Your countrywoman Emma is among my favorite poets here, and she hardly ever writes in rhyme or meter. But I persist in my allegation that the Longfellows, the Keats' , the Coleridges, the Poes will be remembered long after the Burroughs', the Keseys and the Ginsbergs have vanished into the mists.

[Jack...]

Now Mark, I have moved away from rhyming poetry being my only source of poetry and i have learned from people like Emma and Frieda and I continue to break out of the mold and I am having fun with it.

[Jack...]

Mark, at least you can read my poem and comment on it

[jacob erin-cilberto]

interesting piece...i stand outside her window, remembering how she once loved me...now the shades are drawn as are her feelings...

and i am to blame...the self-loathing burns in this like the pavement in 100 degree weather..

jacob

[Jack...]

Thanks so much Jacob

[poetry-kiddo alienbaba]

buckle up iron-man

[Jack...]

Ok, who brought the kryptonite to the party?

[poetry-kiddo alienbaba]

she with the dark black hair

[KAOlmsted]

I'm really really digging this, Jack...I love the narrative prose, and the glaring self-loathing...that spit on the sidewalk? I was so ready for that. I wanted to spit at that precise moment. This is by far my favorite of your pieces...just saying ;-)

[Jack...]

Thanks so much Kimmer. Just changing the channel for a bit. I truly love hearing from you, it really does make all of this worthwhile to me.

[KAOlmsted]

My absolute pleasure...I put this one in my library ;-)

[Marie]

There is more than one problem here...perhaps she of the chocolate hair and crimson nails is not so innocent...

[Jack...]

I'm sure that thought has crossed his mind Marie. Thanks so much.

[Ken Simm.]

This is the full story. This is a man saying I am wrong but who is to say he is not the wronged. This is deep Jack and all the more worthy for that.

[Jack...]

Thank you so much my friend. I wasn't to sure about this one, but I guess it turned out ok.