So much writing.
I wonder if I deny it? I probably do. You know, getting back to work, getting down to business, making a call, taking a meeting. I’m so negatively programmed towards this work, I feel so entitled to live the way I want and so helpless to make it so. Not “helpless” like resourceless…oh no, I have the resources…a much deeper helplessness – like…

Like…live the way I want, at the cost of what?

That type of helpless. At the cost of what?

And must I enter the fray? Save the day? And if I do, what would I do with my lamenting then? If I didn’t have the weight of the question on my mind and in my heart. What would I lament? How would I spend my time if I was following my heart?

I have a feeling, and I don’t know if it’s big enough to change anything, but I have a feeling that upon my last breath, my heart will get the last word and the last word of my heart will be to lament what I have not done. To have a final realization that my lament will end, unfullfilled, ignored. My heart will feel the greatest sadness and regret made so much stronger by all the time it spoke to me, all the time it, so patiently smiled as I passed through it’s message on to something else, something easier, something right in front of me, something that felt good. A patient smile, the smile of a parent who loves their child enough to not force anything on them but also sees the inevitable consequence of a heart ignored.

I pine for the battle but pretend not to see
I yearn for a purpose outside of me
I see the day clearly
I feel it more
But the feeling goes away
As I turn for the door
It’s so easy to do
Simply turn and walk through
And folks clap for a second
and then turn away
back to their own doors
their own brief applause
congratulating everyone
for our lack of claws
And so there I stand,
trophy in hand
empty hallway, just me
Such Trojan Horse jubilee
I followed the path
I took the trophy
I basked in the glory
bestowed onto me.

It’s even been a good ride,
Celebrity
But the emptiness inside
of a crumbling shell
is a sure sign
of the path to hell
and I’ve always known
but can no longer excuse
my own absence
ignorance
choice to recuse.

But I’ve written like this
one million times before
of course I have
it’s the same ole score
it’s almost like by writing,
this hell I ensure.

These are the habits
built on all of my choices
turned to stone in my life
no longer just voices
now vices
now venal
now devilish intent
this is my prison
my walls
my heart’s lament.