When your strength leaves you

again

what do you do,

when you are so weak?

What do you do, when you are looking for a miracle

and a miracle doesn’t show up?

You look at the miracle lives of those around you, like stars on Christmas trees

and they look like perfect shining clocks

keeping perfect time.

I don’t know what to do with my time, most of the time

I stay off the internet, because knowledge can’t be understood with a click of a button

but the other day, I looked up, what to do with my time?

and it said, smart people read books, exercise, and volunteer

these all seem like wastes of time, to me

and I do all of them.

Sometimes, you have to lose, to know what’s worth winning

and sometimes, you have to be a coward, to know you can never be a coward again

We are stronger than we think

When I am under pressure, I feel like an oyster, stripped of its shell

a gooey, transparent, spineless, creature, full of testosterone

lying there,

baking in the sun like a fried egg, with salt washing into my wounds

but I know, it’s not what I feel that matters…

it’s what I am going to do

regardless of protection

like an uncompromising faith

feeling fear, is like an ounce of desperation

rather than pounds of panic

I don’t know what it would be like

to wake up, and realize I had wasted my entire life

I think about that oyster, suffering in the surf

knowing, it can’t quit

trying to survive, for one more day, or one more hour

Why?

Instinct?

And what happens when we abandon our will to live?

I have this nervous habit

of pulling-out my hair

I have anti-hair-loss shampoo

but I still pull-out my hair

because it itches

There are many things I do that don’t make sense

If you can make sense of your life

you can belong

to a larger family

that loves you

and the bigger your family

the larger your life will be.

4 thoughts on “When your strength leaves you…

  1. Weak miracles are like callow youth with their gallows humor, and smart book people are like mechanical clocks all wound up with no key and they tell others to be gallant, even without talent, and the march of time has no drummer, no soul, an unsyncopated tune with steady boredom. A marching band is the wrong place to sing. Time marches on as they say. Read it somewhere.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply to Poetry for Finding Meaning in the Madness Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s