The Poetry Marathon

This one is a work in progress, because I think it is a very important topic to cover for the human condition. Rejection hurts! Especially when we want something SO badly that we feel our very existence depends upon it. Our ego needs this THING or PERSON or EVENT so much that it becomes part of our soul somehow. This is my own prompt, so to speak, and I invite other poets to write about it as well.

To me, rejection is a sign post – a signal that, of all the diverging paths before me, that was not the right one. Then, it becomes a matter of whether or not I still want that thing (job, role in a play, etc.), person (love interest, business relationship), or event (film or music festival, poetry marathon).

Next, there’s the why… why do I want this thing so badly that the thought of being rejected is an obstacle. Then, it becomes the question of want vs need. I want to be an artist full time, but I need a steady cash flow. I want a good lifestyle AND I need a steady cash flow to make that happen. Therefore, I need to work as a data scientist more than I need to pursue a career in the arts.

I want a long term relationship with a man, but I need to be his one and only, and I need to feel that love vibe, and I need some time alone for my creativity. I could go on and on with all those needs and wants.

Rejection, therefore, is a necessary function of reaching all those needs and wants at some point in time. I still wonder if I will ever get there.

Poem to come when I have more time to create it.

Dear God,

Thanks for listening, first of all,
since next to you I feel so small,
but great at the same time,
as I seek to be in tune

with you.

Yes, you. You are pretty cool,
my Lord. And savior, yes, but
not as prescribed by the fool
in need of shedding his own debt.

Thank you.

Every day, I thank you as we speak
together on the mundane things,
and I forget that I am to be meek.
In response to what a stranger brings:

It’s true…

Thank you, Lord, for a mind
that brings me perseverance.
Thank you for the ethic to find
time to study, try, learn, and advance.

So few,

Lord, are willing to listen,
and instead pretend to love you
by not loving themselves within.
You didn’t say “to thine own self be true,”

So true!

The ethic to work and to earn
is a gift from you, Lord,
because you have helped me learn
so that I can afford

being true

to this vessel you built for my soul.
Thank you, sweet friend!
To love you more is my goal,
and love me more till the end.

I hope this is real, handsome man,
and not just another cruelty.
The darkness I’ve drawn in is so adept at it.

I’ve had enough of cruelty in this life.

Oh, but haven’t we both?
I saw her push you away that day
dressed in bizarre white.

You deserve love, as do I. Yes, and don’t we all?

So, I made a promise to God,
as instructed by the song
my child sang under her breath.

“How will I know if he really loves me?”

“Don’t trust the feeling” a parenthetic.
For years, I have not hoped, having forgotten
the sweetness of holding hands.

Your essence has inspired me to hope for love.

You. This. Whatever is going on now,
whether cosmic intervention or human interaction,
has inspired me to be the best version of myself.

I had forgotten, somehow, to enjoy being.

That you know I exist or not is a moot point.
We are so much alike in so many ways.
If we are to cross paths naturally, I hope to be my best self.

Until then, love. Until then, I will simply hope for the best.

Too much carbon in the air
made them all machines.

Squared lips, rounded jaws
of organic steel.

A world of hot diamonds
and melted glass

upon which they roll
on titanium pegs.

A strange experiment!

Round.
Not for appearance,
but for the ease of making.

Nature requires at least an oval
for square is too much effort.

In my youth, pepperoni was it.
Mushrooms were gourmet.

But now, there’s figs and prosciutto,
pesto, and lamb with mint.

Introduce gluten free, and cauliflower crust.
I like it cracker crisp, and the toppings thin.

Spicy tomato sauce, not too much cheese,
and not too oily or droopy.

Pizza! God’s gift to the big butt!!

Running away has been
such a strange purpose
as I am chased by pigs
feigning greatness.

Peace, such an elusive
state of being
in this state of chaos.

I am almost ready to fight,
but I hate fighting.

Until then… I just keep running.

Brush my teeth as water warms.
A towel and a cloth.
My body ready
for its crystalline energy.

Shampoo, then condition.
A foaming gel of roses
meets my skin,
washing every inch in luxury.

Towel off, then moisturize
the face, the arms, the legs
the feet, especially.
Feet so ignored in the past.

Brush in the mousse
with hair still wet,
and wash my hands
of its stickiness.

Conceal the dark
around my eyes.
Chanel, my preferred
five minutes of cosmetics.

Then brush and blow
my hair just so.
Get dressed!
I’m ready to go.

Keyboard and computer.
My fatigue a palpable reality.
I don’t feel like writing.

Sleep.

Yesterday’s latte petroglyph
inside the rim beg for a sip
from a fresh cup.

Sleep.

Two notebooks, one for work
the other for wishes,
though both drift together.

Sleep.

What happened to ButterBeauty?
I think a mouse, perhaps
under the couch.

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

She walked toward me
up a dark staircase,
as I put away boxes
of too many things to own.

I saw her dark hair in my periphery
wearing a blue skirt,
white shirt, short sleeve,
and a vest of Aztec design.

She was tall and thin,
like Sharon, the woman
in the room down the hall
who hated me for eating meat.

Strange bird, Sharon –
Gray with two faces.
Still, I tried, as I always do
to change her heart.

Then, just as I was about to say
“Sharon, you changed your hair!”
she disappeared. Yes, just vanished
into thin air.

It wasn’t Sharon.

Really? Look me in the eye and say that.
I don’t bite. I just nibble.

Shrimp! I love shrimp. No, really. I. Love. Shrimp.
All crustaceans, in fact.

Exotic fruits of the sea! But, I digress.
What’s the intention here?