Self-sabotage

Mar

Thick days come in waves
shorter, less frequent than seasons;
A sluggish spirit is mired in frustration.

For years I’ve grappled with
bouts of invisibility, living among those
who intermittently didn’t see me.

Alright with it most of the time,
on occasion it would piss me off
and I’d rail against it till I was seen again.

My current bout is by design.
The hand in it my own, as if
the acts of family bled into me

because I actually erased myself this time.

Thankfully,
because it’s by my hand, I understand too
my self can be written in again.

Aug

Who has fault, blame
for the state of my life
other than me,
so I can point my finger?

Laying off the burden of
my sorry weakened state
I’ll cuss and swear and rant
”That son-of-a-bitch!”

I’ll give that person
what bitter piece of my mine
I can spare, when I’m not
cleaning up the mess I’m in.

Of course there’ll be threats
to tell everyone, loudly,
how much they suck
and hung me out to dry.

“Don’t trust that fake-ass bastard!”

So, you can understand why
   I’m so frustrated and
having to hold my tongue—
   it’s because my life’s assailant
      is none other than I.

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