Loving just one woman

or all the women of the world, where the dress rehearsal

is never a wedding, and the nights are long

lonely, an alternative to love

old age, and recognition

that you are too old

to love—just wrinkles

nothing left, but spent time.

Who can tell us, if our passions will love us back?

Even if we love them, or fall out of love, in the end

we embrace the abyss.

A spoken word with no faith is always true—

it’s a mathematical certainty, like death

but cheating death in life

is what makes it worth living.

What are friends for, but to tell us what we can’t do?

What is family for, but for those closest to us

to tell us

they know us better

than we know ourselves—

like their opinion

weighs more than absolute truth.

We are infected by it

Our immune systems

must embrace the impossible, the impractical—like a virus, if only to prove

dreams are more valuable

than what we can buy in a store

or parade down main street.

My revenge is to have the world

the power that doesn’t come with a position of responsibility

Numbers compete with each other

and laugh at the magician who doesn’t follow their logic

I believe in doing the opposite of what everyone else is doing

run in the opposite direction

believe the opposite

I would rather be boxed-in by my own beliefs, and be wrong

than believe the masses

I would rather believe in my own god

than the prescriptive lives people take, like bitter medication

I am in rebellion—

it will end badly

and I believe that’s better

than the bitter life

that swallows us whole

spitting us out

with a bad taste

in its mouth.

7 thoughts on “Better than the Bitter Life

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