Seen

 

A hurricane has taken you

I see, but I’m certain it’s not just me.

and I know nothing

of how it came to be

or how to clean it up

Yet here I sit

Hoping

Somehow

my unsaid will

My agnostic prayer

the superstition

in the savior complex of my own psyche

Could somehow send disaster relief

 

Hoping

somehow

you see this tattered piece of a poem

Swift onto the shoreline

Take it as a sign

ask for help

call for assistance

Lay the foundation

you think was rubble

And then, maybe, you would see

That you were being seen.

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Void

The void wasn’t there.

She searched.

Her head. Not there.

Her nerves. Not there.

Her self. Not there.

She searched,

Looked,

Felt

For the barren

Or anguish

Pain

Uncertainty

Incompleteness

Those toxic thoughts

Those dependable constants

So often lingering in her mind.

Certainly, there was always a void.

Something missing.

Not enough. Something. Someone. Herself.

 

And so she waited, expected.

But on this peculiarly unpeculiar regular day

This mundanely interesting period of her life

 

She felt no void.

 

Just warmth

Gratitude

Confidence

Her own happy wrinkles

Friends

Her friends

Art

A cat’s meow

Warm cushiony seats

A pen in hand

Waiting, expecting empty

But instead feeling full.

Mornings

(The flirtatious soft pillow whispers)
The cacophony of fuzzy beeps bicker.
(The blankets embrace you provocatively)
The cold air flicks your ear disapprovingly.
(Flannel tickles your legs in the dark, taunting)
Sunlight spies from the window, judging.
(Gravity seduces, parenthetical, unwavering)
The beep resurrects, outspoken, reproachful.
(Primal)

Responsibility.

(10 succulent minutes)

Sit up.

 

-Copywright Gerran Firkus

Like the Child I Was

When I was a child

Life was different

Worries were different

I roamed the neighborhood with freedom

But

Had little control of my life

As an adult

I still roam my neighborhood with freedom

My neighborhood is much larger

But I still have little control of my life

Sure

There is some illusion of control

But the big things

Seem to happen

No matter what

Tornados hit

Loved ones die

Floods come

Fires happen

People steal your money

You have no control of those things

But one thing

One thing I can control

Is my happiness

I can choose

How to perceive the World

My World

I can hate

Feel despair

Feel alone

Want

Complain

Find anger

Or

I can choose

To find happiness

To find love

To find compassion

To be at peace

To be like the child I was

And enjoy this life

Enjoy being alive

No matter what

 

Copyright Don MacLeod

Fine

You there.

Me here.

 

Look up.

Eye to eye.

Let the muscles turn as they may.

Facial recognition

Familiarity

Beyond that

What is?

 

Me here.

You over there.

 

Hey.

How are you?

And don’t say fine.

I know you lie.

 

I’m here.

I exist.

 

It’s the Midwest.

 

The proper response is: “Fine.”

 

But what is fine?

It’s so nondescript.

 

I only know fine as a derogatory

She’s fine.

Her body is fine.

You are fiiiine.

Fine wine

Fine hair

She is fine

Fine. Object.

 

I’m fine.

Well maybe.

Just my body though.

I am fiiiiiine.

My glass of wine.

My hair.

I am fine.

Fine. Object.

 

But if you ask

I’m just too busy to…

 

(See, that’s already a lie

Busy is a myth

There is plenty of time

Busy is as worthless as fine

A cop out to avoid connection)

 

But if you ask

I don’t have the trust

That you will listen

Not judge

 

And want to hear something

Anything

Other

 

than ”fine”.

The Runt

A small black nose
Pokes out of the cage
Sniffs the stale air
One small paw touches the cold cement
The second paw, smaller
Imperfect
Disproportionate
Fuzz amuck
Small white dangling loner hairs
Timid claws

The child human and her mother
View the tiny paws trembling
And instantly ascertain
Tis the runt of the litter

In the wild
Runts retain a grim outlook
Smaller
Weaker
Less courageous

Seen as dispensable to the group in event of an emergency
Cast away
Last in the milk line.

This puppy
The last
The slowest
The most afraid

What if – this puppy saw
The endless blue sky
Conquered the quiver
Daily
Pushed forward
One tiny disadvantaged paw
At a time

What if the runts ran things
A runt at the capitol
A runt in charge of business
Runts could be revered
Not sacrificed
Not abandoned

Runts too small to bully
A world more harmonious
Small paws in front
Large paws use their brute physical strength
As part of the ubiquitous
Altruistic
Endless sky

A sky clean
A sky to cause marvel
At a gaze
A sky that makes being at ease.

 

-Copywright Gerran Firkus