Wednesday, August 31, 2016

I cannot be trusted.

While in the fetal position
I strangled my inner child.
I put my hands around its
Insufferable neck and choked
The life out of’ its crying jag
Of a little body.

And I know you never trusted me,
I knew it right from the very start.
It had everything to do with the
Way you looked at me so ruefully
Like I was a puzzle you could not
Quite figure out.

I’ve never been able to stomach the
Academic sludge passed off as poetry
Because words are more than just a way
To pad your low self-esteem. I’ve had it
Up to here with the posers who don’t understand
That suffering is not an art form and martyrdom
Is not a well-honed skill like karate or belly dancing.

My inner child kept telling me everything would be
Alright when nothing could have been further from
The God stained, bloody stool truth. And you didn’t
Help matters when you pretended a connection existed
When nothing but lies and more lies were present when
We spooned like two cartoon mutts.

I cannot be trusted. It’s been that way since being born in a fog of war.
And yes it’s true I’ve become that old man yelling at the neighborhood kids
To get off his lawn because I’ve become addicted to swallowing bitter pills.
And have grown tired of this game of denial I continue playing like Russian
Roulette except I’m not Johnny Ace and the bullets refuse to exit the chamber
And blow my brains all over the eggshell colored walls.

Charles Cicirella

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