Poisoning One's Self

For pleasure it's a drink, a sniff, a smoke.
For others it's a bad joke.
For safety or immunity it's a slow, constant, pain.
For revenge it's insane.

With narcotics it's a crazy trip-- sometimes good and sometimes the best bad ever had.
With guilt it's drag on the victim and the surrounding environment.
With electricity or lethal drugs in non-lethal doses, it's pending success.
With mental turmoil it's probably better to vent.

With hormones to prevent what you want to come one day anyway,
it is painful killing easy smiles each day.
With diet pills to remove what the years have given to one's gut and thigh,
it is unhealthy, but "At least," you tell yourself, "I try."
With cigarette smoke only to give you something to do,
it is a habit you could break, but you don't want to.

With guilt, it's beyond your control.
With love, you can damage your eternal soul.
With hate, you are eating away your mental stability.
With motivation, you challenge your limited abilitiy.

With banality in life, boredom is more dangerous than strife.
With adrenaline, you could kill your own life.

We all do it;
we judge each other--hypocrit
pointing fingers at hypocrits
Wearing each shoe that fits.

Beautiful Confidence

A Beautiful Con is executed perfectly. It is enacted without a glitch or a hitch for all to see.
The confidence man (or woman) earns respect when the mark (poor fool) doesn't expect.
The ridicule cannot fall on the criminal's head; when done right he's honored instead.
Smarter than the average man, with charisma the crowd forgives ya.
And the cost of the props and profit too--tax free. A beautiful con ends precisely.
Although tempting, one must not wait for just one more dime to add to the pile.
Over is over--walk away and smile.
When the statute of limitations passes, the best criminals awe the masses
with their tales of immoral and illegal atrocities.
A confidence man knows and owns his true self complete;
He only hides his face when casting his newest feat.
A beautiful con holds more reverence than
any of nature's perfect creations can.

But a con man knows himself and owns himself.
A petty criminal who pretends to be a saint
is really just a taint
on a flawed but enamoured society.
So despicable, he tells himself he is what he ain't.

Lie to the masses. Lie to the church. Lie to the law.
Deceive your children. Deceive your wife.
But no one can deceive all
because self deception comes before one's true fall.

Shadow of One's Self

I learned much from my father. He always had something to say about life. A little lesson wrapped up in each friendly bit of conversation. His bits of wisdom, no matter their relevance (or lack there of) in reality are mixed in with the mortar that secures the stones of the foundation of the rationality that shelters my emotional self.

The piece of wisdom that has been strong in my mind in recent weeks haunts my mental serenity. "Your reputation may precede you," he told me on one occasion, "but you are only as good as what you do now. You may have been the best yesterday, but what are you today? What will you be tomorrow?"

I ask myself, "Sister Crow, what has become of the perfectionist in you? What have you accomplished lately? Do you have any goals?"

I admonish myself, "Even your reputation of exceptionality has faded to a hardly remembered ghost of a once was fleeting thought."

I encourage myself, "You can do anything."

I taunt myself, "But you have to start by doing something."

I laugh at myself, "Only a fool does not know what she wants."

And I steal my nerves; a promise made is a grand commitment. A promise to one's self is the easiest (and most disappointing) to break. I resolve to do something worthy of my past reputation. The past is gone, the future is as likely to be worse as it is to be better. The present is the only true representation of self in reality.

Healing

Time does not heal all, but sometimes it lets you forget.
The one thing love conquers is often one's good sense.
The burden of proof is often not worth the penance.
All that really matters is all that reality isn't.
The blood soaked bandage works to repair a torn confidence.
Its only flesh,
but the soul suffers within the mesh of mind, legs, organs and arms.
Life lives, loves and living often harms
and sometimes time charms
--its blessing and its curse.

Whimsy Only, Resolvedly!

All seriousness aside--
the goof chunk's on a mission, see
the work and the hunt and the upkeep
are keeping me up and
I'm tired, but not sick;
I'm due for some action
packed laughter and a small splatter
of hilarity, please.

So,
All whimsy upfront
smack, blam and chomp
the bubble gum of life,
like a slice of giggle pie
topped with a game of
hide the peek, where laughter
wins!

High browed importance has its place
under a rug, I demand to not see a trace
of business matter needing attending
until tomorrow, because this night's ending
with a snuggle and a huggle and smile and a snort;

Don't make be bring out the toes,
their the last resort-- and everyone knows
they never fail
to send all sliding down a rail of
release like a bubble going
POP!

Broken Dream On

A broken dream disables
Like a wing fractured from blunt trauma
or a once good eye injured to blindness
Like a mind imbalanced by drama
or heart whose knows no kindness

A broken dream haunts
Like a diseased egg thrown from the nest
the wake of which never does rest
Like a lost mate who did not return
memories of whom forever burn

A broken dream tires
Like a journey forced by hunger
or a lover ten years younger
Like a job thankless and demeaning
or an addiction that keeps you feining.

A broken dream cannot be healed
and can rarely be ignored
It does not disperse like seeds in a field
or evaporate like drinks over poured.

A broken dream stays on like an unwanted guest
or a friend of a friend you can't help but detest.

A broken dream cannot be cured
of this be assured
A dream broken replaced is slowly forgotten
but must be before its corpse is rotten.

So dream big and dream strong
dream hard and dream determined
dream true and dream long
but keep dreaming on.

One Bad Day

A dropped egg from the nest, a broken wing, no place to rest as screeching tires
careen past and sentry duty seems to last longer than the day could be
long gone memories of another bird's song echo in my head and the nestlings
haven't been fed. A busy mate once delivered by fate symbolizes a quickly closing
gait of a bird on land is a bit funny, like a beggar with too much money it all
makes sense in this bird's brain-- scavenged food washed down a storm
drain the frosty mug like a natural born thug who is really only just
laws written never were; a sad cat with loud purr-poseful actions
hot crossed buns loaded guns boring re-runs not enough fun
or enough funds to be--only enough to see what could have been
and then enough more for half a shot to pour
out the trouble onto another,
a friend, a lover, together but delving shallow wounds
feuds buried, then amused. A fuse too short to trust with fire
another round like a tire, or tired of sired saints of capital
there was no pride before this fall
only a summer too short to be a season , just a week or a weekend even it was
actually just one bad day.