Bus Boy #1

Written on the bus today. Protagonist= a stranger. Subject= connection (in the spirit of Whitman). Enjoy! 

I can tell just by looking at him,

And-- God-- I love musicians. 

I can hear the music in his head--

I don't like it much, but I understand: 

Right now the entire world is moving to one beat--

Everything is in agreement

A commonality completely compatible to him. 

I don't like the music much, but I nod my head with his

For camaraderie. 

Leaves fall with us.

Lights blink with us.

Clouds form and fragment, and sunlight hits our cheeks

And the spots in our eyes move in rhythm. 

The man taps his foot with us.

The bus stops and goes with us. 

The big houses that we can't fit into blur around us.

Even the unexcitable, chemically-sprayed hair extensions of the girls we don't like

Curl with the sound waves,

And the hard-set jaws of the masculine pretty-boys we don't like-- unclench.

The fearless/fearful eyes of the people we are too afraid to talk to-- close, 

So that we can see what they're truly thinking. 

And the second-hands on the watches of the corporate bores we keep away from

Tick in time with us. 

The interlacing of life is nice,

But its nothing new. 

I am only made to realize it through the brief companionship of my musician,

But it has alway been here.

Life forever mingles, but we have not matured;

We have not learned to make eye contact as we give out handshakes 

I Have No Answers

What I want is to make all this shit sound eloquent. I've been told not to value my negativity too much, but if I can't make something beautiful out of all this pain then I don't think I'll be able to live through it. So I'll try not to get stuck in this place. I'll try to balance these deadening days with poems about life and that dependent-less love I was obsessed with. But for now I'm in limbo; some awkward transitional stage. I'm seeing things a little more clearly, but I don't necessarily like what I see. I'm making resolutions to find something internal and positive, but I haven't taken the actual steps yet. 

So! Here's a poem- was written on the bus home today: 

When I get angry

I feel fists knocking on the backside of my eyeballs,

And when I analyze-- the feeling--

It proves to be Hectic and Beautiful and Exciting.

But I don't want to step outside myself this time

To rationalize this insanity into art.

I feel angry all the time now.

My feelings fist into my vision.

I don't think I can see you clearly anymore.

So this is where I'm at present. Would you like some context?: 

I had been priding myself on my ability to deal. Really I was just lacking issues. 

I am as unstable as ever. I still cling to delusional hopes. I am happy for as long as those hopes are standing, and when reality causes them to collapse I claim that life is unfair. I guess self-pity is easier than acceptance. But it is so unsustainable, and this way of "living" has finally guided me to the point where I see that I can't continue on this way. 

The metaphor of a pile-up seems to fit: first came my hopes, then disappointment, then resentment, guilt, anger, general cynicism. I never let go of any of it, and now its too heavy for me to hold onto. 

But I'm not really sure how to let go. Maybe just realizing it, and writing it down, is the process. But I am pretty certain it is more complicated than that. 

Furthermore-- there seem to be certain things I could do that would force me to let go. For instance: I could bask in my anger, abandon the people I can place blame on... but then I am still holding fast to a portion of my load. I don't think this can be forced. 

Anyway. I'm starting here. I'm beginning with the thinking and realizing and writing. And I'm feeling good here.