Saturday, August 14, 2010

Rhythm Writing

You're different now, on the other side, allied with my enemies, sentries keeping me from sensing inner peace, happiness. Feel the inner beats, listen to the e's, feel me feeling me through a sea of unfamiliarity. There's clarity to be found in the sound that only the trained ear can hear, but you'd rather be deaf than pause for a breath to study the science behind the music of my existence, my insistance on marching in time to the rhythm in my mind.
You're stuck in a dead step not knowing which foot goes forward and which one stays back and you can't take the weight, metal plates on your shoulders. You're older and that's your excuse to justify the abuse you feed me, need me to know that I need you, need me to know that I am nothing without you, the gods that you think you are, far away from me and that's the way it'll stay.
Don't play with me, already failed me, impaled me upon words mailed to me, and it's great to see you defend your son that isn't me that might need to end me, bend me until I am the one who breaks myself and then you'll all say that my gay friends made me crazy, that they did this to me. Listen to me, blissfully aware of the love for me that lies outside of you, in spite of you, untied from you who lied, who cried, who never once tried to see the happy in me.