Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Crying Jags That Never Cease

Yearn:
To look into someone's eyes
And to know that
They do not want to be with you.

Stale:
This mother/daughter relationship
That never got off the ground.

Scared,
Of living in my van,
But you gotta do what you gotta do.
Despite the stale yearning.

My anger,
Which clouds up my vision
As well as the daytime sky,
Confuses my mind and my mouth,
So that when she's
Slapping and yelling at me
I seldom know how to react.

Instead, I sit there and cry.
I take in this abuse.
It just feels like the right thing.

Sometimes I wonder if she hates me
For being an insomniac.

She never wants to talk to me
About it or anything else.
And she's conned me out of
So much money. Well,
She never wanted to talk
About that either.

Sometimes, I think if she looks
Hard enough, she'll see me.

Well then, I wish
Everyone would look harder.

I wish that when she did look at me
It wasn't always with that
Same angry glare that
Pierces through my shell and
Makes me cry forever.

And what's all this talk about
Me having no life?
If John agrees, it must be true.
I feel like
A part of my soul was stolen.

And I never steal because
The government hates competition.

The door creaks open.
My heart shudder.
From panic, from fear.
I wish I weren't here.

Our fights are always left in silence.
I'd run away but no one
Would care about a 21 year old
That ran away from home.

If I saw it on the news, I wouldn't care either.

And yet, my heart would shiver.
My heart seldom recognizes laughter.

In regards to me:
Everyone has thrown all
Caution and care to the win.
Even I am lacking in care.

Lacking:
Some thing that I no longer have,
Usually some thing I never had.
Some thing that has made me empty inside.

Possession:
Everything that was mine
Taken from me.

Like my right to express my open opinions,
In my mom's communist-like house.
It's her way only.

All I have is pen and paper,
A few errant tears.
Memories of this past summer,
Sunsets and sunrises
And an arsenal of words

That nobody every lets me speak.

I have no home.

Sometimes I feel like I never did.

December 4, 2004
Suge


Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Crying Jags That Never Cease

315,161 Poems Read