I am the modern man.
The Model T of my generation,
Built by the drive for perfection,
I am most at home with computers,
My makers lost their humanity,
So they couldn't install it when they
replaced my bones with ball bearings.
The only thing I have in common with
the architects of my aerodynamics is
There is a diesel engine behind my ribcage
running on empty,
And I am hungry.
Two hydraulic legs with a lifetime warranty
that ran out on my family ages ago,
Anger does not come equipped with ears or
I cannot hear my words or soften my speech.
I am the stainless, blameless, steel god of the
I- am Progress,
Do with me what you will.
I am 160 miles an hour on the open road
away from memories,
Always racing to the future blaring full
Never pausing long enough to stare at
Our mistakes were too great for us to consider
Unwelcome hitchhikers latched to my back
like so much worn baggage in the trunk,
And a streamlined spine,
Designed to stand straight.
It does not bend or break for anyone.
No-one told me it would be this lonely.
'One of a kind' is not a blessing.
It is one ticket to the drive in movies,
It's an empty passenger seat filled with a
GPS and the oddly repetitive voice of
my ex-girlfriend telling me where to turn,
And this is not what I signed up for.
I was searching for serenity in the desert,
But all I got was sand in my gears,
Tear ducts turned into timing belts so
I wouldn't have to cry,
My mechanic said new steering and a
vacuum seal would get me where I'm
But I haven't looked back in years.
I am the product of my creators,
And Mother Nature's only claim to me
is the oil flowing through my veins,
I am a collision course away from oblivion,
A machine-made frame with no ghost inside
I know that there is an error to my efficiency.
I think it started with a savior that didn't take
pity on the mechanism of my mortality,
But I'm glad he hands out second chances;
My failures have bitten deep into my body,
Leaving rust patch directions toward beauty,
I will tear the metal from this masterpiece,
Making myself vulnerable to my own velocity.
Born again into biology,
I would rather read the end of my skin's story,
Than be immortalized by materials.
This machine didn't have a heart until
it realized what was missing:
7 years agoIpoet
I am the modern man.
7 years agoIpoet
Before you tell me to play you like a piano,
And to just hit the high notes,
There are some things I think you should
probably know about me.
I spend a lot of time in my mind,
On the corner of Memory and Regret,
Lounging against a lamp-post,
Always smoking my very last cigarette,
Watching Shoulda-Coulda-Woulda stroll
by with Ms. Opportunity on his arm.
I know I'm not always altogether,
So there's more madness to my madness
than your modern scientific methods will
And if I stick my head into your clouds,
It's just 'cause I want to see what you're made of.
Or, hell, maybe I just like the view.
But staring at your sun through a mirror,
I'm gonna see a million midnights;
For me, pain isn't an end,
It's the beginning of joy.
You may have noticed my long sleeve;
It's because I've got a quick-release heart
pinned to my wrist,
I stopped measuring my attraction to other
people in butterflies because, honestly,
there were way too many typhoons in
the South Pacific.
And I know it's a bit suspicious, conspicuous
That I don't watch what I eat.
I don't read the labels on food, either.
Yes, I know, “smoking is bad for me”,
If you're going to argue the point,
Hold your breath and watch me die,
My body is not a temple,
It's an amusement ride...
And occasionally I take passengers.
As long as they're at least this tall.
I still jump the last few feet onto my
bed at night.
Not because there are monsters under it,
But because imagination is a dying art form.
There are more words in my head than
lightning in a storm,
I'm a poet.
And... don't finish that cliché phrase,
I've got rhymes like you've got legs,
They go on for days.
I tell bad jokes,
And if you ask me what I'm thinking,
“Nothing” is going to be a valid answer.
I've got the face of a cynic,
And the soul of a romantic,
So I'll bring you flowers like I'm going to
But the second you open that door,
I'll light up like a birthday cake.
So, I'm sorry,
I never really learned how to play the piano.
I could probably make it through “Chopsticks”.
But if you you come to me with a broken heart,
That, I can fix.
7 years agoIpoet
I can't be your knight anymore.
My armor is dented,
The shine is gone from fighting your
So I gave it to the Salvation Army,
In the hopes that, maybe, they could
save my soul from the deeds I
did in your name.
My body was broken defending
My bones bent by the blame you
misplaced like a mountain on
Pressing me into forgetfulness;
Call me Atlas.
Shrugging would be a relief.
I've been shackled for so long
With you as my constant companion,
That I am lost more often than
I am found,
Even then, I am often gone.
You put stamps on your letters,
Sending mixed messages that
make the labyrinth look like
a one way street,
Even the Minotaur took pity
on me and showed me the
I would brick you into a cask
of Amontillado if I could;
Bitterness always tastes just
the way it should,
More so when you're around.
I hear armies marching when
you profess hate,
And crows circling when you
spin lies into love,
I will leave war to warriors,
Waging words for freedom and
But I digress.
This is not a poem about unveiled
To the contrary,
I wish you nothing but the best,
Though you'll have to find it yourself;
Faith was never your strong suit.
I must have seen your father's memory
in your eyes,
Trying to keep the compassion of a dead
Resurrecting the past doesn't make the
Their ghosts don't push you up to the light,
They pull you down.
Into the River Styx,
You didn't even pretend to fight.
You cuffed me with kindness,
And played me for pity,
How could you forget the sun?
Maybe your eyes grew accustomed to
the ragged sadness of small places
and the faces you knew so well-
My tears are no longer for you.
They belong to your possibilities,
Caught like raindrops in cupped hands
to be turned into holy water,
We must have missed communion the
day they handed out blessings,
When you told me it would be fine,
I realized God saves his favor for the
Freeing those that taste the fruit you
ate in Hades,
It was the seed of salvation you spit out.
I rode to your rescue,
Racing into tomorrow...
Find some other sucker on a white steed.
I will not let you steal the gold from my
sunset to brighten your twilight years.
Why didn't you realize that the moon was
And its silver in your soul, however tarnished,
Was just as precious?
2019 years agoIpoet
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