Finding It

Finding It

I could have made you happy
But, sometimes
I gotta treat you with disdain.
Glorify and baptize my pain
In order to appease the senses of others.

And oh no I’m not apologetic.
When it’s showtime – let’s get it…
The blank stares, no responses, the Disclosure of your reflection in others, Or “You mighty” with the pen
Every now and again.
The physical words are just
The front door to me.

But my unhappiness is center stage,
Yet the view of the back door to me.
You don’t see me (maybe through me)
Uncluttering the clutter that I get from The gutter – my perception.
I hit repeat and it becomes a
Consistently monstrous task
To me.

And I try to get it.
I wrack my brain…
Exactly where is the route to the X
That leads to this priceless treasure
That you see in me?

I don’t want to plead, beg, scream, Prematurely sin in
Cotton sheets, and revoke my
Kindness ’cause he wasn’t
A sheep – in order to get to
Happy through the veins
Of my poetry…

My sunflower choked on
Water but thrived in the sunshine.

Why does happiness have
To grow from the dirt that
Is slung at me?

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