Disappointment
I sit in a dark room, & my heart fumes
Cause my art’s doomed.. &, in part, soon-
To spark tombs, when the hype weans
I can now see that writing’s a pipe dream
Then my eyes focus, & I notice a man
When his motionless hand, opens & spans
Wide, as if : inviting me to come over-
Come closer: as his hand becomes slower
I can admit; weed has me half-baked-
On this sad day..So he meets me halfway
His skin’s dark & warm-& cries deep
It starts to storm.. Right as our eyes meet
His face is sad, & it seeps of sorrow-
As if he could, somehow, see tomorrow
& know, it’d be nothing better there
My wasted life is in this unpleasant stare
Then his sorrow escalates to anger
& in this thick air, I can taste his malice
But, truthfully, I don’t feel danger
See? He’s upset at all my wasted talents
Us “two” men drown in disgrace
My life’s nothing, I’ve just begun to see
A single tear rolls down my face
As I wipe this tall mirror, in front of me
Am I doomed to cleaning hotel rooms all my life?...
Authors note: This is a true story. Not just a poem with no backbone. At age 16-17, I found myself cleaning bathrooms and bedroom etc, 40 hours a week as a highschool dropout. I had to help my mother with bills, and I didn’t like school anyway. After doing this for a year, I felt like my life was wasted and I would often have these moments of talking into the mirror, mad at my self and my choices. It’s like the guy in the mirror knew I fucked up, and every time I saw a mirror, he let me know. Nothing feels worse than thinking your life is worthless, and you’ll never amount to shit. That is how I felt and why I wrote this piece. [this is the 3rd or 4th rewrite on the original piece I wrote a couple years ago]
Replied to DNK and Word Perfect