Monday, March 10, 2014

When They Put Me Back In The Mud by A.S. Washington

When They Put Me Back In The Mud

Is it the pounding in my heart,
The fat around my midsection,
Or the ever approaching inevitability of death?
Is it the success of others around me?
Those I get to watch; all these things,
Surely causing me stress.
The pace at which I write or do not,
The many days I take off,
Should that bother me?
Should I dry my watery eyes,
Or cry,
Is it the choice to do or not, bothering me?
We question ourselves, we question them,
We question God, we question it all.
We live in vacuums, We curl into balls,
We live at an incredible pace of wanting it all,
Wanting it more, tirelessly, and hoping it comes in an instant,
Sometimes we want the journey to be over,
Something we do not have to witness.
Fucking ups and downs, damn winding roads,
The opinions of people so distant,
From my damned reality, from my sleepless nights,
To the person in the mirror I curse and fight.
And still I smile, happy as I am, mad as I am,
So many things I am all at once,
Drunk and sober, mood hot, mood colder,
With all this despair I am fraught,
Tired of seeking justification from this magazine and that tradition,
Of contemporary notions, trying to keep a cool disposition,
When all I really want to say is "fuck you and fuck the world."
Honest we're told to be, until our honesty hurts,
Told to be humble, and swallow our pride,
Yet, on the edge of disaster is where most put their hand up destiny's skirt.
You read that shit: "History honors the bold,"
Those dusty pages remember the brave,
Even the meek who die at the tip of a blade,
Turning their cheek, knowing well the price to be paid.
Fuck the old way to write, the beauty of patience,
How about the fury of passion?
The middle finger, the spit against the cement,
The anger that's too much so you laugh it;
And you cry and curse God, and you wish you could die,
Hating everyone you help because you're forgotten,
Of them, of yourself, and of everything,
Keeps your feelings toward them so rotten.
This is a moment to break the mold,
To put a boot to perfection and open arms to truth,
As I age I know I'll die for real,
So when it is time, comfortably I want to lay.
Not of their design, or their acceptance, or their expectation,
But to the fervor of my own blood,
I'll want to be surely certain that I lived for heart's content,
When they put me back in the mud.

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Live With Fury
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Upon The Edge
Amidst The Dark Hours
The Conundrum of Venus and Mars


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