jonberger

You used to trust me.
You used to listen
when I talked to you,
used to seem
like the words I shared
might have value,
might be true to you
at least a little.

There’s a faith
in me
that seems gone
when we talk,
like you’re tired of the words
and are trying to read beneath them
to decode from language a deeper
more accurate meaning.
You think that I’m playing you
all the time.

Do you know how hard
it can be
to be doubted so regularly?
I don’t want you to question every proclamation,
debate every statement.
I’m tired of all your belief that I’m wrong,
that I’m lying,
that I’ve failed
yet again.

I want it to be
like it was when we met
and you believed me
didn’t fight to get at the truth
behind everything.

I just want you
to trust me again
cuz otherwise,
I have no idea
how I’ll get you
your money back.

The doctor’s visit changed so much.
I am not allergic to the things I thought
like salt and peanut butter
and girls
but I am
apparently
allergic to such things as sweat
and elbow grease
and an honest day’s work.
I had no idea my poor reactions to those things
was biological in nature.

Or maybe it’s chemical.
Maybe there are substances
in my brain that can no longer function
when faced with any aspect of effort.
The doctor didn’t really go into much detail.

Or doesn’t really matter
why I have these symptoms
but it seems there’s now
no way around the fact
that I have to make some serious changes
based on this new news.

My diet,
my sleep schedule,
my entire professional life
will be impacted
now that I have a license to laze.

Your body is a bag with bones
your brain a puppeteer.
You do your best with what you have
to make that body steer
towards the things you want to have
or do or love or fuck or eat
but the mind lacks finesse enough
to make control complete.

You seek to run a marathon?
You have the will, the want.
But though your legs will start with vigor
you will find, at last, they can’t
maintain the pace for long enough
to finish very fast
and the race ends days too late;
in last place you’ll be cast.

Or say you want to cram all-night,
and study well past dawn.
Remember that your brain is smart
but still your body’s pawn
– or maybe like a king:
tired and dependent
on the rest of the chess pieces
no matter how important.

Your memory would need your eyes
wide open for to read
the words… and your lips to sip
your needed caffeine feed.
For if in weakness or in haste
your form opts to go to sleep
your brain will cram in nothing new;
your grade will fall – quite steep.

Your body will betray you
if you make it do too much.
That’s the advice I give to you;
my head to yours. As such
I hope your skull takes in the words
received from your good ear
provided that it lets you learn

what I had hoped you’d hear.

You don’t have to trust me
and god knows I’ve given you little reason to
but you ought to trust somebody.
Burned as you may be
you’ll be better off
if you open yourself up to expression of some sort.
Tell the truth to someone.
Allow yourself
to be vulnerable.

You don’t have to love me.
I understand.
I’ve seen pictures of my big ol’ butt.
I understand that all this
might not be for everybody.
But
like Springfield said
“You better love somebody.
It’s late.”
Let yourself feel.
Let yourself live.

You don’t have to have sex
with me
but I really wish you would.

You are dead to me.
You are cursed.
You are marked as the lowest of the low
the unfit
those now deemed
untouchable.

You are claimed.
You are known.
You have been called out,
warned, identified as unable to be appreciated at any point in the future.

I know you for what you are:
unclean
untidy
undeserving of this gift
bestowed upon you
that can just as easily be rescinded
if you choose not to intend to attend this most excellent of events.

If you decide to ignore
my sweet daughter’s sweeter invitation
then so shall it be taken away from you.
That and all hope you might have of peace
between our families.

You are endangered.
You are forsaken.
You are the enemy
if you choose not to be a guest
at my daughter’s upcoming tea party.

Choose your fate
at your own peril
and
choose wisely.
Reserve your place
at my daughter’s table now
or, at least,
no later than Thursday.

What you wrote?
You wrote something sad.
You just completed some crap
built some bullshit.
What at first you thought was art
got an F.
It wasn’t art you made
but a fart.

You thought you were creative.
You thought you were fecund
and you were
in that you’ve proven
yet again
that you’re quite capable
of producing shit on command.

You’re not the artist you thought you were.
It turns out,
you’re not an artist at all.
You’re something else.
You’re something less.
You’re something bad.

And what you wrote?
It’s…
It’s…
Words fail.

You should go out more.
You’re pale.
You’re depressed.
You are quite clearly
not at your best.
You should attempt something new
get under the blue
to thine own self, remain true.
You should go out.

You should head outside.
You could visit a neighborhood you’ve never seen.
You could enter a park
on the other side of town.
You could meet strangers
make friends
– you could explore aspects
you’ve avoided for too long.
You could, today,
express yourself in alternate ways.
You could find something novel to say.
You should head out.

You oughtta travel.
You might see the world.
You could learn languages.
You should see sights.
You owe it to yourself
to get
to go
to beat it
Beat back whatever is stopping you
slowing you
Do what you can go get better.
Go for a walk.
Go on a quest.
Go.
Go!

I thought I could do it.
I wanted to do it.
I tried to do it.
I was doing it
for a while.
I believed I was
at least.
I worked
so frigging hard
to be your backdoor man
the guy you go to
in the shadows.

I sought to serve
as your part time lover
when you couldn’t get your loving
from another
when your fella wasn’t around
or when your man
was bringing you down.

I thought that some of you
was better than none of you.
I tried to give you what you needed
while you gave me
why you had available.
I did what I could
to make do.

I tried to be satisfied.
I tried to be yours.
I tried to do it
– and I thought I could.
I was so close.
Why wouldn’t you let me keep at it?

There was a TV show
some decades back
starring Redd Fox’s son
from that junkyard?

He was trying to get with his ex-wife
or his baby mama
or some chick with a kid.
It was called Baby I’m Back.

I think you should see it
with me.
I have a VHS tape
with a couple of episodes of that show.
I got it
in the travels
that have kept me away
these last few months.

Please
let me in
and watch this program
with you.
I think it might speak
to our situation
somehow.

I left the party
to go for a walk
to clear my head
which means I didn’t see anyone
to talk to
which means I didn’t find
anyone to fuck
which means
I was too intimidated by the whole scene
and got bored standing in the corner
holding up the wall.

But on the street
in that ‘hood
where I walked,
things were different.
I was a king.
I was a panther.
I was itinerant
which means I could live
in my own imagination
which means
I could play pretend.

I chatted with the pizza shop girl
where I ordered a scallion pie
and gave her my number
and carried the pizza back to the party
and waited by the door
as I tried to buzz back in
which means my hands were full
which means I tried to balance too many things
which means
I dropped the pie.

And when I got back upstairs
with the bent and broken box of slices
I presented them to the host
who thanked me for being so thoughtful
and was about to say something else
when she opened the carrier
but I was already heading out the door
to go back to the pizza girl
and anything she had to offer
which means
I quickly got on the train
and headed home
alone.