To My Old Door Mat

You are severely unappreciated.
Your folds and crevasses are now worn and lumpy.
Your original crisp form is now crimped and creased.

You have been stepped on, scuffed up and sullied by the nasties of this world. You’ve been pushed into corners and trapped against walls by the harsh door you are so eternally married to. You are torn and tattered; your hairs are mangled now. You are stained by mud and drowned in water on a regular basis. Boarding restrictions do not provide you any protection from the cruelty of time and nature.

You are beaten down every day, but you have no legs to walk away. You remain. You serve all who enter into your abode and wish them well as they leave without ever acknowledging your hospitality.

Thanks for always being there for me, old friend.

I do not deserve you.

On Being Used

At what point do I draw the line?
When can I say “enough is enough?”

I am too unselfish. I am used
I am too forgiving. I am taken advantage of.

I am my father’s child.
What would he do?
When would he call it quits, pull up anchor and leave?

I am my Father’s child.
What would He do?
When would self-sacrifice and servitude turn to suffering self-inflicted?

I am at an impasse.

Satire about Satire?

Is it possible to write a successful essay or narrative (anything really) concluding that satire is incapable of effectively establishing an argument?

Hmmmm…

Your Smell Lingers (unwanted)

your smell fills my mind with disgust. it squeezes my throat till I cough, wishing to forget your revolting memory. i cant cleanse the room; i cant rid my heart of your smell.

i cant spit you out. i cant cover you up with a fine fragrance. you linger here- unwanted and relentless. my mind says ignore you, but my body cannot do so. i cant rid this place of your stench, your odor, your memory.

my face contorts into complex shapes attempting to accurately depict the disgust and disdain which is rendered by such foul breathing air. covering my face is futile. preventing breath prevents smelling your smelly smell, but preventing breath prevents life. i do not wish to live with your smell, but i do wish to live…

what a dreadful burden to bear.

you dont deserve to enter into the shelter of my nostrils. nobody deserves to smell your smell.

leave me.

No Harbor in the Sky

Whisked up in the winds of Spring, I am lifted.
Carried along by the leaves strung across the sky,
The breeze chills my naked cheeks.
Flying away, it reveals the warmth freely gifted by rays of sunlight.

The trees are far below me now.
Scattered bushes identify as freckles on the surface of the earth.
Fields of roses blush its fair complexion.
They hide scars left behind by rivers of tears that once streamed down its face.

Birds above are now feathered friends gliding beside me on this free journey.
Their presence is reassuring and inspiring.
Here and there, they stay long enough only to wish me well.
They grace me with fluttering ecstasies then return to their private endeavors.

Tossed into the dense heart of the clouds, my hasty breath is kindly taken from me.
Moisture collects and nestles on my neck and hands.
Swimming in the air is much less involved.
Resistance gives way to my flailing arms.

The need to breathe is present no more.
I am prostrate to nothing and feel the absence of pressure.
Released, I relinquish my worries.
The backstroke is better here in the sea of blue.

Breathe easy.

Float along and make land where you may.
I will remain without direction in this one-man vessel.
My harbor is no longer necessary.
I will not be tied down.

I am sailing free.