In order to fulfill my dreams I have kept from sleeping

He glares at me
The way I sometimes glare at the moon
The way I sometimes shout and stamp my feet to the beauties of this world
It's good to know I am not alone

Often times
when clouds blanket the sun
(as if he needs to keep warm
as if he can just call in sick
as if he doesn't have a wife and kids to feed in the morning)
it's easy to forget we still have shadows.

The last train has just left the station.
I'm very sorry ma'am, you'll have to come back tomorrow.
No, there's nothing I can do about it
The trains run on their own pace
And I just sell the tickets.
But tomorrow is not much farther than a walk downtown.
If you hurry you may catch a glimpse of the sun setting on the city skyline.

#one

Assignment: To write an argumentative essay that fully demonstrates the ideas and rhetorical strategy of argument/persuasion as discussed and practiced in class. The essay will be approximately 4-5 pages in length (150 points) and will follow the essay manuscript guidelines provided.

Two pages is all I have within me
and the essay should be five

"Aren't you supposed to be a writer?"

I thought I was until
I found writing is
sitting
and shitting
what other people want to hear
in beautiful, in english
and my english is ugly
you wouldn't sleep with her
even if you had a few drinks in ya.
I don't digest ideas as sliders.
I use adjectives sparingly
verbs only when required
and I think I've used an adverb once
no, twice
and literary techniques?
Out of the question.

I was never meant to be a poet
or even anything in the creative arts for that matter
I wasn't meant for great things
or small things
or much things
at all

All I know is I was meant
to grapple and hold
and dig my nails into your shoulders
and struggle and wince
and feel your flesh
your sandpaper ripping my fingers to shreds
and bleed and fall
and stay still
until
"one
two
three"
bell rings
crowd cheers.
He gets up, arms in the air
the ref grabs his right
but no one comes to solace me
I lay on the ground
upside down frowns are not really smiles
I see the cameras
bulbs flashing
and I can see that I am not fit
for their photographs
undeveloped film preserves no memories
I am but a whisper
through history
and a speck on a time line
of undefinable events
and carnival arrivals.

I haven't thought of suicide in nearly one year
and now its creeped back into my mind
and lingers like an after dinner fart
my brother giggles because of it
because of it I laugh so no one knows it was me
No one knows it was me two years ago
on the front page of the paper
on a hospital gurney
bloodied face
puffy eyes
broken legs,
No one knows it was me two years ago
and I have nearly forgotten.

No.

No, I haven't forgotten
I never forget.
The scars that surround me
are the bars of a cell.

I am not a writer.
You were right, anyway.
I will write, any way
I can.
And sleep in hopes of recurring dreams.

#two
("Here I am, an artist, with nothing to say but an urge to say something")

I was born
missing two legs and two arms
and a liver.

For legs were meant for walking
and arms were meant for working
and a liver for cleansing

And I can do none of these.

#three

Sometimes I write in the dark hoping some words or phrases appear when i turn the lights on. Words or phrases I wasn't aware had danced across the paper when I had no eyes to see them.

and the first blog ends...........
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NOW!