Life in Retrograde – (It’s not) A Poem

I take my glasses off.

Because I don’t want to see the world any less blurry than I used to.

But maybe, cliché intended,

I just don’t want the world to see me the way it’s used to.

I intend to be unrecognizable,

but I already know there isn’t anyone here who will see me, truly.

Half the light I have is gone.

And my profile is in retrograde.

So yeah, I’m burnt out and tired.

I’m exhausted on a sunlit stage.

I’m busted, broke, and overdrawn,

I’m leafless, lisped, and strung high.

Life’s trouble can’t dissuade satisfaction,

But how can the cat be back if it never were in action.

Nine lives lost in a matter of hours,

But that’s beside the point.

So burry the middle me with the red flowers.

Let the petals stain with rust and stand at my grave

I bet its probably somewhere warrantless

Like Amarillo or Spokane

Roots exhumed too frequently to be persistent

Why is life so damn inconsistent?

Because I’m brought to my knees on a day to day basis,

And I can’t seem to figure out where my head space is.

To be pushed and pulled.

To feel used and then clammed up.

To be asked to be perfect,

And then admonished for trying.

What, oh,

What do they want?