poem of the day 07.29.10

the hero of my shit

sitting here in the morning
somewhere between the poem
and the novel
trying to write about my youth
in some kind of context
turn myself into the protagonist
the hero of the novel

but the hero of my shit
isn’t going to win it
i already know this, so that makes it
hard to write anything of substance
that doesn’t bring the rage
the blood of the old wounds
leaking back out of me
that doesn’t chip the soul anew

for mine was a lost youth
of too many moves
too many new faces to navigate to care
of fat lonely days and nights
in the bedroom of thwarted dreams
of arguments and misunderstanding
of chaos and creation
of turncoat pals and all the girls
that never gave a damn

ah, the poetry of the dead end street
to nowhere

i wouldn’t change a second of the pain
not for anything

maybe that’s all you need to create a hero

perseverance and the ever-twisting knife

maybe the hero isn’t sitting on this page
waiting for drive and motivation

maybe he’s the guy in the chair drinking coffee
nursing another periwinkle dawn
just trying to get it all down

nah...but that would be too easy