a cork board

Day 2/Poem 2 – NaPoWriMo
PMpWed, 04 Apr 2012 22:19:57 +000019Wednesday 1, 2010, 10:19 pm
Filed under: poems, the mirror | Tags: , , , , ,

The Way of Wanting


I tried resisting.

It only becomes stronger.

Such is the way of wanting.

You push and you push

against the indifference

until your fingers fall numb to the wrist.


Until you find a means to

simply circumvent the very faces

mocking with their temptation.

Or even worse, you give in.


I stayed away for so long.

There was no need to

push them away because,

for me, they did not exist.


But they always come knocking,

don’t they? Waking you from

the warmest of sleeps

with the coldest of embraces.


They come knocking

like Jehovah’s witnesses.

Selling me something I do not need,

do not want and do not believe in.

When you open the door,

you show yourself.


Their kind, manipulative words penetrate.

They turn from your door

leaving you with a pamphlet in your hand

and a question mark inside of you.


I don’t even remember

what brought them back.

Was it wanting to belong?

Not wanting to feel alone

standing in the cold at the

intermission of a poetry slam?

Jus to pass the time?


These I cannot say.

I only remember how it felt

when I pursed my lips onto the end

of the freshly lit cigarette.

The embers swelled in radiance

as they crackled and

my lungs filled with a longing

I no longer knew existed.

The inhale felt like home.


With the exhale came

the shame. The guilt.

Every time after that first, second time

came the question

What the fuck am I doing?


When Old Smokey pays me a visit

I barely see him.

He steps into my periphery,

he does not speak.

He leers at me from across the room

with smoke emanating from his pores.

With lit cherries for pupils

and crumbling tobacco for fingers.


I can’t look him in the eye.

I try to push, I try to resist.

I try to think about my wife.

About my son.


See, for years

I thought I would die young.

A tragic end to a starving artist

who was always misunderstood.

The novelty of genius.


But now,

I have so much to live for.

I have so much more to lose.

Temptation finds me and

tries to offer a comfort

I do not need, do not want

and do not believe in.

I try to envision his smile,

her touch.


But I cannot see far enough

to envision lung, mouth or throat cancer

stealing me away from them like a thief in the night.

I cannot envision a simple vice destroying me.


So my attempts at nobility,

at responsibility, at capability

transcend into fragility.

They become futile because

I get trapped in the now and

ignite the very fire that

threatens to destroy everything I have built

with my hands, my mind and my heart.


I know I can shake him again.

It’s not about resisting.

It’s about knowing, about truth.

It’s not about fighting.

It’s about overcoming by eliminating.


Such is the way of wanting.

You are no meant to push.

You are meant to embrace,

and bid farewell.


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