Withered Wizard

Growing old before your time

Because you grind your teeth at night

And gnash them absentmindedly during the day.

All the wrinkles around your eyes because of those awesome fake smiles

Can’t hide what the mirror shows

Squinty eyed, pretending to be whole all the time

Carrying weights from years over

Your back cannot carry anymore

But you won’t bend over, “cause I don’t have false pride.”


Wait your turn

One of these days

You will find out that the man is married

Maybe you are sitting with your husband

Maybe you are sitting with your wife

Your face will change a thousand colors

You will stop in the middle of a sentence

Someone might ask, what is it my dear?

You will want to say, I need some air

But you will keep sitting there

Right there.

No Vacancy

In my heart, once, a great secret lay:
a neat little cabin
in the wilderness of this heart.
A big man lived there, a false god,
the one I wrote poetry for.
Always bent over his little desk
maybe doing taxes.
I don’t know how I fit all that
in my little heart.
Because I could never fit in.
You know, I tried very hard.

Being me

So I just made myself a new blog because Microsoft ate my last one, taking all my random mutterings to whatever internet graveyard there is for words on blogs. Now let’s see how much I peruse of this one.