From The Start

All this time I thought my perspective was unique
and I loved my subjective technique.
I think this was actually a defective way to critique
what I recollected as false truths at which I unearthed a peek.

I was wrong. There was no integrity in my uniqueness.

This perspective has done little more than make me king of semantics.
It's highly infective to whittle things down to level that's manic
The directive I want is an acquittal to anything synthetic.

I step back to realize that I look at life through a broken lens
and it makes the pain abscise and the emptiness get intense.
It sends me back to reprise the strife that my adoption has condensed
because I want my birth mother to authorize and pay the debt her absence has expensed.

I was wrong. My loss is accentuated by her weakness.

That broken lens needed more depth than those nurses could have foregone
My infancy needed a course where what occurs is a better phenomenal
because what I got forced on was a hurt that can run for a solid marathon
then I hit the cold doorstep of Catholic Social Services that I was left on.

Misplaced

I will let you down, do not forget.
There is no success in a relationship.
I set out with intent to love and protect
then I fail, suck it dry and then turn apathetic.
You see...
the benefit you receive from the sacrifice you make
will play resident to succeed but then realize you cannot dictate
my delicate increase to satisfy and fixate
is my venomous retreat as my appetite is misplaced.

I'm just a pessimist to believe I can maximize the mistake
but fuck it, I need medicine to repeat and satisfy this empty embrace.

Expire

Such a sin it was for my soul from the start
given an eloquent tongue coupled with an immature heart.
My agenda assigns my own progress to depart
as my ego imbues failure to successfully restart.

My love for this complication is not absent

but it lacks romanticism and reeks of something truly tragic.
What good is a holding a mirror if my eyes are blind to heed the light?
What would be clear is in disguise to my mind if it was indeed bright?

The innovation I tout from my soapbox is admired
because while I do inspire, this will ultimately backfire.
The complication is that the solution I need will require
for me to lay what we had and put it down to retire.
The attempt to finally aspire to move on
will require me to let your hold on me expire.

These consequences, oh so sweetly and sinfully I hold them dire.

No More

It was your distant tip toe that I swore
I heard approaching softly to my door.
Closer you crept to where you stood before
and I wondered just what you had in store.

Well, I abhor that you even dare to explore
from the audacious height from which you soar.
You ignored the hole within me you tore
after you swore “us” something you stood for.
I’m sorry but my will is weakened and my back is sore.

Therefore I reject everything within your repertoire
even as I once adored what you showed at your core.
I have served as a prisoner of love, not war
and dismiss the notion of the desire you call for.
So stand there and remember what you swore to care for
as I look you in the eye and quietly close the door.

Again

I finally came around, my heart not under arrest

Wanting to break down the damage that was compressed.

I have unwound the claim you held in contest

And then I put you down, laying it all to rest.

My enemy was conquered and then I rued the day.

Feeling came back but something was off, much to my dismay.

Some things never die, surely I should have expected.

That it faithfully played along as a skeptic

Blamelessly, as it would have others accept it

Shamefully you only sought to inject it 

and it was blatantly easy for me to detect it.

Alas, it was my complacency that resurrected it.

Chicanery

I have measured against myself and come up short
As my ambitions and deliverance are all out of sort.
There is only talk among words and no one can better contort
than I who consistently resort...
to use manipulation for sport
to send waves of lust to only abort
to set up the weak to falsely exhort
and decay the structure I claim to support.

I take these words and sit to assort
assembling them in a fashion that will begin to report
That better days will dawn, just beyond the next port
but the storm rages on with an endless escort
and it has come down to this last resort.

That words have no claim to sustenance of action
They cannot stand more than any subtraction.
They are the mere canvass, not the bright benefaction
And they taste of a staler satisfaction.
There is still time to stave of distraction
and redeem for a moment, even if only a fraction
to move towards the promise with swifter traction
And claim what is mine; actual self satisfaction.