Latest Posts by gameknight2169 - Page 2
How Much of Me Is the Real Me
How much of me is the real me
and how much is what you put in there?
How much of me is what I really really want
and how much is what you've told me to want?
What part of me is the real, genuine article
and what part is the seeds you've planted?
What part of me is my blood, sweat, and tears
and what part is the loan you gave to a grave with my name on it?
Which notes in my melody come from my own mind and thought
and which notes are copied from a song I already forgot?
Which notes in my melody are beautiful, strong, soft, and cheery
and which notes are the discord you've sown?
What part of me is the part gives and seeks love?
and what part is the one that hates all it sees?
What part of me is the part that I should keep?
and what part should I leave behind?
How much of me is the real me?
and how much is your god-damned meddling?
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I Ask
I repeat my lamentations forevermore
as I repeat the same actions
that create this melancholy suffering.
I ask, "Where has all the joy in the world gone?"
while I push it away and reject every inch
for I am afraid of allowing spring
into my frozen, quiet winter.
I ask, "Where have all the good men gone?"
as I fail to see that I myself
am not a good man,
and thus see little good in others.
I ask, "What can I do to make the right choices?"
as I look at the choices in front of me
the correct one obvious to my discerning eye
and choose the shortsighted option again.
I ask, "How can I be better?"
as I ignore the hard, effortful path to victory
the path taken by everyone else who won
and simply hope greatness will fall onto my silver platter
I ask, "Where is someone who will love me?"
as I fail to see the good in myself
and forget that love, like charity,
starts from within.
I'm Sorry. I'll Leave. I'll Go.
It appears that
I have done
something bad again.
It appears that
I have drawn
your ire again.
I'm sorry.
I'll leave.
I'll go.
Am I just
another filthy
attention-seeker?
Is this
another farce
I've made?
I'm sorry.
I'll leave.
I'll go.
Am I
Not even worth
The air I breathe?
Am I really
Such scum
And filth?
I'm sorry.
I'll leave.
I'll go.
Am I truly
Just another blight
On this world?
Should I
End it here
To not be a burden?
I'm sorry.
I'll leave.
I'll go.
Just say the words
and I'll make
my exit.
Just tell me to get out
and I'll heed
your command.
I'm sorry.
I'll leave.
I'll go.
Keep Looking
The light at the end of the tunnel
Is hidden by a door in-between.
The senses that fall into the funnel
must be processed and filtered before seen.
The fox sees the grapes and cries "sour!"
The faint light peeks through, and the man denies.
But when time passes, hour by hour,
the fox must jump up, and the man must realize.
A sliver of light peeks through the door's crack
for it has been pulled slightly ajar
by the ones who walked off the well-worn track
and realized, inside, who they really are.
The man fears the door, for it is new to him
If he is wrong about the light, there is only evil in sight
This is a dangerous matter - it cannot be decided on a whim.
But he must keep looking, and he must see the light.
He must crack the door further open,
pushing the holy sepulchre's sealing stone aside
for the trailblazers have advised; the Oracles have spoken:
There is only joy waiting for her on the other side.
A Tree Falls
A tree falls in the forest.
Nobody is nearby. Nobody to hear.
Does it even make a sound?
A tree falls in the forest.
It will impact the ecosystem
even more than it impacts the ground.
A lighthouse stops its beacon.
A ship nearby is lost and weary.
It cannot see. It runs aground.
A man dies alone in his hut.
He was kind, he was friendly, he was good.
At his funeral, no friends of his could be found.
But one kind lady far away might remember.
He had helped her find her way, a long time ago.
And so his memory, perhaps, will be skyward bound
as the man who loved everybody but himself.
Impostor
I, a false pretender to the throne
command thee thus: stay away
from me, from my filth, from the
degeneracy of my very being.
There is nothing good here.
No beauty to redeem. No
great ambition or fame
to be found in this husk.
Do not argue. You may not
tell me about how great I already am.
I fear you may convince me. It feeds
the narcissism, the complacency.
I will not be great. I will not be good.
Do not place your hopes upon me.
I merely take and take and take what's not mine
so that I can pretend I had a part in creation.
Go. Cast my chains off thee.
Be free. Be happy. Be real.
I will hold myself back and watch
with a jealous, happy smile.
Who is Speaking?
Who is this?
three people in one
one person as two
put on a mask and done!
Is the fair lady speaking?
She is quite fun.
Let's decide on a date
and go for a run!
Is the young boy speaking?
He is quite kind.
I hope he is not so sad.
The world is good, I'm sure he'll find.
Is the good sir speaking?
He is quite professional.
I think he will go a long way.
His intelligence is indeed exceptional.
Are all three of them speaking?
I sure hope they are.
Each one brings something different
Like three types of shining star.
Loneliness
A tree falls
Nobody around to hear
It makes a sound.
But it doesn’t matter.
I tell a joke
Not particularly good
People around
Nobody listening.
I laugh with myself.
I laugh at myself.
What a funny joke!
Both are funny jokes!
Is this how
God feels, in his kingdom
Of everything
High up above, alone
Nothing Left
made in the blind spot of god
a husk of a man without a soul
what is being alive and being dead
it is all the same regardless
I reach for the pie in the sky
as the world turns pale grey
there is nothing left for me here
so I will seek better lands
but I am trapped, held back
by the same chains of my own making
because I thought the sky was evil
for it was not the same grey as the rest
Then I saw them, the people in the sky
So far above, coming down with the helping hand
Even though there's really not much to pull, eh?
Just the sack of flesh and the animal shoved in there
And so it doesn't want to be pulled
To leave the safety, the dullness, the monotony
Why should it? It'd probably just get worse if it changed
and it didn't deserve to be helped by those it shunned
and regardless, the grapes were probably sour anyways.
Foreboding
I am in the dark
The rain pounds on the windows
My eyes snap open
Time is running out
I can't feel the urgency
What's in the future?
I look but don't see
I understand but can't feel
I know but can't act.
I have one last chance.
I should prepare - the rain stops -
I wasted my time.
Day and Night
The sun shines brightly
on a joyful new day.
Let us laugh and laugh
until our minds are jelly and paste.
No, I will not
"take it down a notch."
Not for you, for myself, or for anyone.
I am free as the sky.
I know, you know, we all know,
What happens to me when the dreary time comes.
The world falls apart, reality losing its lustre
as all returns to the correct muted gray and _____.
But who cares? Let's not let the spoilsport
ruin our fun. Live in the moment,
Die in the moment, be your authentic self -
For there is no future to look forwards to.
I am Night, the eternal slumber,
once again reminding you of outstanding debts.
Your soul is mine, as ruined as it is,
For even the most damaged of people have value.
An Unrealistic Wish
Fair lady, your grace
astounds me. Your beauty is
simply unparalleled. Oh, what I would give
to be one of your faces, each beautiful,
each with their own touch -
immaculate, pouting, smiling, caring, sharp, soft, all perfect.
But I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that.
Instead, I am stuck in this
muck of a body. My ugliness is
quite gastly. I suppose it is nature.
To be a Man, this vulgar, disfigured-at-conception
shambling mound of meat, fucking years of effort
just for the body to be fit and healthy, much less attractive,
and even less so the face.
And don't get me started on the person.
Oh, yes, I suppose partly inherited, but I'm sure mostly inherent -
the rage, violence, crassness, brash impusiveness,
the chaos and unbefitting nature of it all.
Why, I can't even love myself like this -
What kind of asshat would I be to ask for love from you?
But I digress. See, this is what I mean -
Even now I overpower, I crush and push and talk
as if I am the only real person in the world, a spoiled brat -
whining about how bad he has it
to people who've had much worse.
Forget me. I've been
too much of a burden on you. I'm sorry.
Even now your kindness and generosity shine through
my darkest clouds, my deepest woes,
and I'm sorry I waste your blessings like this.
Thank you for your time. I know, I know -
I cannot be one of your faces. I am what I am:
a greedy little shit of a Man who is only after your looks
and even if I had it, it would be fake, a cheap imitation
of your boundless perfection. But thank you for
at least considering it. Oh, and before you go -
I love you. You're beautiful.
I Have Not Changed
I still carry
that fear of you
of your dissappointment and
anger.
I still fail
to see what is important
what I need to be doing and
how I can do it better.
I still wait
for salvation to deliver me
instead of moving my own
two legs to walk
I still think
that I can fix myself
even though time has shown that
I cannot get up alone.
I still hope
to never be a burden
nevermind the burden I am
to the world I take from.
I still allow
my passions to be tainted
by approval, by fear, by time
as I run myself ragged for you.
I still shudder
when I hear a ping
wondering whether it is praise
or deep, vitriolic scorn
I still fear
that the beautiful, wonderful, spectacular people around me
will retract their blessings
and leave me godless.
I still fear that I am not worth a second of your time.
As I put my elbow on the table and the hand under my mastoid bone and grab at my short hair I stop and think
wow okay, that felt strangely feminine why did I do that
Solving Problems
Solving a problem
is about finding
the right tool.
Sometimes
You have the right tool
but forgot it.
Sometimes
You saw wrong
And you grabbed the hammer
When what you needed was a wrench.
Sometimes
You simply don't have it
And need to go to the store
To get the tool you need.
Sometimes
That tool is people.
New ideas, new methods, new tricks.
Everyone else has so much to teach us.
And sometimes
I stressed so much
I forgot the simple solution
and cried myself to sleep.
And maybe
maybe sometimes
there just isn't a perfect solution at all
and I have to just deal with it.
Or maybe I'm using a voltmeter and car battery
When what I actually need is a hand.
A Broken Vase
This vase is broken.
It is chipped, cracked, and damaged.
It is broken like a million other vases.
Yes, it is broken.
Hurt like a million others, indeed.
Each one uniquely hurt, each one uniquely changed.
This broken vase is worthless.
It is broken. It serves no purpose.
It would be better to throw it away.
No, it can heal.
And when it is healed, it will be unique.
It will be a simple vase no longer.
The broken vase will stay broken.
It will never be fixed to mint condition.
It must be thrown away.
Yes, the damage will stay.
But it will be fixed to be different.
It will be unique and special and beautiful.
This is a broken vase. We must throw it away.
I am beginning to believe that the vase is not the problem here.
I Fear
I fear
that I am not perfect.
I am not attractive
and I am not well.
I fear
that any effort I make
is doomed to be wasted
like the other efforts I've made.
I fear
that if I change myself
I will no longer be myself
a conformity gained, a uniqueless lost.
I fear
that if I force myself to change
I will force myself through life
and not have enjoyed any of it at all.
I fear
that if I am just "another person"
then I will have lost all chances
of recieving your love.
I fear
that if I help others
naively, kindly, and oh so optimistically
that I will only be disadvantaging myself.
And yet, I help.
I encourage, I uplift, I support.
No matter how naive I may seem
I continue to serve the good of others.
So maybe, this time
This time I can change, truly
for the better, for the best, to be a new me
To push through the fear while keeping me myself
I fear
that I will still not be deserving
of your love; of your kindness; of you
that my efforts will again be wasted
But I will try anyways.
I Gave It All Away
A man who does nothing
but think all the time
has nothing to think about
except thoughts.
Then what is a man
who does nothing but help;
who gives his soul away
until there is nothing else?
Maybe he is generous
for generosity is a virtue;
But he is not wealthy
and has not given his money away.
Maybe he is virtuous
like the proud, proud knights of fantasy
But those knights were courageous;
something he could never be.
Maybe he is an idiot
a fool for being kind;
for kindness is weakness
and this boy must learn to fight
Maybe he is soulless
like a husk of a man;
but there are some even emptier than he;
how could he dare compare himself to them?
I think I am naive
I am kind, virtuous, and stupid;
For I gave my soul away
Hoping I could have a piece of yours
"In case anyone missed it, the tuberculosis outbreak in Kansas has now spread to Ohio.
[The Republican Administration] has ordered the CDC to not report on this"
There Once Was A Child
There once was a boy who hated himself
for he was afraid of punishment, afraid of failure
so he looked to the world for happiness and joy
and only found short-lived self-deprecating jokes
There once was a boy who thought he was happy
but every day when he came home
tired of his happy clownish facade
he sat down in his chair and thought
as both the jester and the king
in his own court of delusion
There once was a man who knew what went wrong
who hated those who made him go oh so wrong
but inside, deep down, the same man that knew
also knew it was unfair to hate those who wronged him
so the boy kept it inside, the smoldering rage
for he was not a man yet, not in body nor in mind
There once was a boy who convinced himself
that he was happy enough to live in the moment
nevermind the man in his head who told him
about all the things he did wrong, or the wrongs done to him
he was content to live in the moment with the joy of friendship
until that friendship was shattered in every single way
There was once a boy who loved those who wronged him
for he was full of that childish love to give to those undeserving
until the young man burst out with the greatest anger
to speak his mind and wield his fist in the most primal way
for those who had wronged him had aged too much to wrong again
and it was now his turn to wrong them, and assert his own power
but those who had wronged him had aged too much to wrong again
and so the child stopped him, for the child was naive,
and the child still loved all.
There is now only a child who wallows in anger and doubt
about who he is, why he is, and what he should do
who had all the love to give others but found none at all from them
and can no longer love for the sake of love
but only for the hope that someone will love him back
There is now only a man who is thoroughly dissappointed
at the weakness of the child and the perpetuation of failure
who explained how to win as the child chose to lose
for he was only a child who had never felt love
and naively gave away his soul along with his love
and these two continue to bicker and fight
about who was right and who was wrong
and as always only time will tell
only after it is already too late
Me talking to the therapist voice in my head
"okay, so what do you say when someone says they're not worth anything"
"Who the hell says they're worthless I'll fight them" "Alright, now what should you think when you're the one that feels like you're worthless" "Well I'd be right, I am worthless" "no-"
