Honesty III

Honesty Part III

Ok, really, what’s the deal? Half the ideas in half my brain aren’t worth it to feel. Like this. And that. And that when it’s this doing that to this. A big miss. And a big mess. Like a big guess that didn’t help you pass the big test. Hits right to the chest. Then what’s next? Like nothing impacts enough. Oh, yeah,… me, sooo tough. Enough! Tough enough to get by maybe. But inside parts will always be like a little baby. Like, “Save me!” Like, “Change me!”. Like, “Just please don’t hate me!” It’s crazy to think it’s been almost twenty one years and it’s still relevant. Has changed a bit but not the core of it. And there will only be more of it. Like I'm making a chore of it. A daily ritual to be vulnerable and innocent. But it will never get done. Get me done. Get me over. Spill me over.  Wash away my spill. Don’t be ill. It’s just my everything everywhere for everyone everyday to see and feel. And I know it must seem so miniscule. But I’m just trying to be a little different then the next everyday tool. You know? A fool. Don’t want to be. Am not. And don’t mistake it. And so I’ll try not to change it. As long as you can promise to save it if I start to misplace it. Myself is what I mean, incase you can’t follow. Please, ask me to slow down if that’s too hard to swallow. I’d like to barrow your eyes for a while if I could. If you would? You see, I can't see to good. You see? No, not me, I said I can’t see. See? Give them to me. I’d like to see me. With you. Something true. Undeniable. Can't be contradicted. Cause I saw me with your eyes and you couldn’t defend it. Pretend that you see someone you like, or at least try to not dislike. Try to not run at the site of someone whom you might actually in fact despise. Nice try. I saw you slip on some contacts. Trying to cover up your inner conflict about your life and what I should really have to do with it. But just wait a minute. Wake up! Sit up! Distracted from the screeches of the train, I finally realize the left was talking to the right side of my brain. So I guess I should refrain from any more deep thought that I haven’t bought somewhere in a book. These original thoughts, they’ll make you crazy. Talking to myself like I'm interacting with another side of me. I should just quit it all and start up with pottery. Making plates and bowls and ashtrays to sell off the street everyday. Something respectable. Something comfortable. Or just something I can sell my soul for. I wonder how much my soul could go for on the black market? Hopefully quite a bit. But then I’ll turn around and see it patented and sold at Target. Like some trendy piece of shit. “Come get my soul! It’ll look great in your apartment!” Just charge it, bag it, hand it down to your children. Your new family heirloom that I used to inhabit. Grab it. Before you’re the last on your block to have it. What a fit. Fit this in. In your head. I'm useless? You spend hours at night not doing anything in bed. Lazy fuck.