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Literature Text
I am stuck in the wheels
of a system: turning under the
spokes and treads of oil.
Occasionally it gives me
Labels -- snippets of myself,
Hints and dreams, a sense of
meaning -- slips from me,
the advice and papers, and every
week I come home with a new
Label, a new view, some I had
never dreamed before.
It presses down on me,
smelling of burnt rubber, viscous
black, and I wonder if I am to be
the oil change, tossed out. Pushed
toward a different vehicle, misnamed,
imposing, clean, and unknown. I fear
the system is sick of me,
vomiting me back up
and elsewhere, to be
forgotten.
I wonder when it happened --
when I got stuck in this rut,
smashed under the turning
wheel of the world, mistaking
stasis for serenity, forgetting time,
and wishing for the key back,
I feel the disapproving eyes
from those who are my equal.
I've lost this war -- the foolish
casualty, filming the enemy
instead of fleeing.
If I could rewind it all I would,
but the only things turning are
these wheels, never ending,
onward and away, crumpled
me in the dust: the solution's
problem, lost in the memory.
If I close my eyes and drift
on the wind, I wonder, when I land
will I open my mind and finally
be Normal.
of a system: turning under the
spokes and treads of oil.
Occasionally it gives me
Labels -- snippets of myself,
Hints and dreams, a sense of
meaning -- slips from me,
the advice and papers, and every
week I come home with a new
Label, a new view, some I had
never dreamed before.
It presses down on me,
smelling of burnt rubber, viscous
black, and I wonder if I am to be
the oil change, tossed out. Pushed
toward a different vehicle, misnamed,
imposing, clean, and unknown. I fear
the system is sick of me,
vomiting me back up
and elsewhere, to be
forgotten.
I wonder when it happened --
when I got stuck in this rut,
smashed under the turning
wheel of the world, mistaking
stasis for serenity, forgetting time,
and wishing for the key back,
I feel the disapproving eyes
from those who are my equal.
I've lost this war -- the foolish
casualty, filming the enemy
instead of fleeing.
If I could rewind it all I would,
but the only things turning are
these wheels, never ending,
onward and away, crumpled
me in the dust: the solution's
problem, lost in the memory.
If I close my eyes and drift
on the wind, I wonder, when I land
will I open my mind and finally
be Normal.
Lyke OMG Breeze emo poetry is, lyke, SO high school, lulz lyke grow up.
Edit - All right much as the original description amuses me I should put something legitimate here.
This is based on feelings I've had for months -- feelings that I am inadequate, that I am hopeless, selfish and bratty and doomed to failure. And yet beneath all of this self-hatred there is this sort of frustration, this belief that for all I may be an unforgivable bitch, the health services I go too are not helping. If I may act like a teenager, I feel like they don't understand -- that they are missing some vital part of what I am trying to tell them, perhaps due to my own flaws.
Edit - And I completely forgot the feelings of academic and life failure -- the feelings that, because I do not have undergraduate research while I swear EVERYONE ELSE DOES; that I don't have a thesis while EVERYONE ELSE DOES; that my GPA is below 3.0; and that I cannot seem to get a project advisor for my graduate degree, I must be completely useless a human being and a failure doomed to working at McDonald's.
And through it all I fear it's ME -- me who is screwing up, failing, being cranky, being immature, being worthless and useless and hopeless. Sometimes I swear the health services play upon that fear. And I'm certain they're all about to give up on me.
Conveying that in a four-stanza poem is difficult, to be certain, but I did try. Hope you like it.
Edit - All right much as the original description amuses me I should put something legitimate here.
This is based on feelings I've had for months -- feelings that I am inadequate, that I am hopeless, selfish and bratty and doomed to failure. And yet beneath all of this self-hatred there is this sort of frustration, this belief that for all I may be an unforgivable bitch, the health services I go too are not helping. If I may act like a teenager, I feel like they don't understand -- that they are missing some vital part of what I am trying to tell them, perhaps due to my own flaws.
Edit - And I completely forgot the feelings of academic and life failure -- the feelings that, because I do not have undergraduate research while I swear EVERYONE ELSE DOES; that I don't have a thesis while EVERYONE ELSE DOES; that my GPA is below 3.0; and that I cannot seem to get a project advisor for my graduate degree, I must be completely useless a human being and a failure doomed to working at McDonald's.
And through it all I fear it's ME -- me who is screwing up, failing, being cranky, being immature, being worthless and useless and hopeless. Sometimes I swear the health services play upon that fear. And I'm certain they're all about to give up on me.
Conveying that in a four-stanza poem is difficult, to be certain, but I did try. Hope you like it.
© 2011 - 2024 Breezeykins
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