My bags are packed.
My eyes are heavy.

I’ve lived too
many lives already.

I am tired and need
to have a calm day.

Things need to go my way.
My brain a runaway train.

Nothing stops long
enough to understand.

Why I can’t find strength
but keep having strength

enough to deal with
life on life’s terms.

Without a bottle, without
hospital, without love.

This world is hostile.
I might just need to be

a selfish self-absorbed
little ol’ me writing poetry.

Just putting words together
in order, nice and pretty.

Like mice and men with
a machine gun lung.

Looking for something
that cuts my tongue.

Sparks of synapses
that don’t spark right.

I don’t make you laugh,
My comedy makes you cry.

Stay away from my apathy.
I’d rather stretch a rug.

Just go be a poet
trying to be someone.

Telling a joke,
no laughs at all.

Sing a song for you,
leave the club alone.

Tell a friend
to tell a friend.

Telephones help.
They really do.

It’s hard being this
selfish by myself.

 

Jason Wright is the editor and founder of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly. His third book, Train of Thought 2: Almost Home is available now at the Oddball Book Store.