Saturday, February 23, 2013

lowest of the low (an exercise in stream of consciousness free verse)

I do not think I can feel much worse - physically, mentally, emotionally. I am so tired all the time. Tired of working three jobs, only to scramble and hope to work more. Tired of middle of the night wake ups and driving everywhere, for everyone, everyday. I am tired of grading, both for my kids and others'. Tired of housework that is never done, schoolwork that is never done, responsibility that is never done.  Tired of lies and hurt and loneliness and being on every moment of every day. Tired of having to be the nice guy, of being mommy and daddy, of stress and worry and exhaustion. Of never having a day off. Of worrying when I just want to go out for a few hours. Of worrying while I'm at work. Tired of sore muscles, stress headaches, of dealing, dealing every day; dealing with failings and untruths and schoolwork and medicines and numbers. Every day more and more numbers: numbers in the bank and on my tax return and on my bills. Numbers on a pump and a meter and on packaging and a chart. Numbers in a gradebook, on a quiz, on an essay, on a paystub. Numbers on the odometer, on the speedometer, on the speed limit sign, on the milage chart.  Next exit two miles, but not my exit. No exit for me. I am riding on this highway, and the miles roll by, and I can't find a gas station and there is no one to relieve me on the drive. It is late; the road is dark; my exit is no where to be seen; and I am so tired of driving.  I go to bed at one am with work still to do, and I wake up at six am with more work more work more work. It never ends. The stress, the worry, the responsibility the loneliness the heartache the fear the counting counting counting never ends.  Every day questions questions questions, how does this sound? Why can' t we go?  Where is my shoe?  What is for dinner? When do we leave? Why do I have to do this?  And why why why me oh GOD and I don't have answers not real answers not the ones that matter I want a break but I dont' want a break. I am always the bad guy but I am never the bad guy. My heart hurts but my heart is dead. All that remains of my heart are the three pieces that live with me, hope with me, rely on me. It is me; I am all that stands between them and the world, this horrible horrible world that only want to crush and hurt and kill. I am tired and bruised and broken. I am barely a shell but I am all they have against the slings and arrows and sticks and stones and horrors and I have to stand tall ready to fight and I have no weapons but my mind, which is tired, and my body, which is tired, and this single lonely  fragile shell is no match for all the world throws and it is not enough to cover and protect those remains of my heart but I stand there anyway, knowing that the next time I may not rise, my body may be to bruised, my muscles give out, but I am ready for the next hit I stand tall for those three because if not me, then who? I am crushed I am broken beyond measure and everyday I rise waiting for the next assault, because I cannot let those slings and arrows and sticks and stones and pains and hurt reach them. So I take them, over and over and just when I think I can't get up again I do but I don't know how, For there is nothing left, but still I rise for those three, I take them pain and hurt for them, I take all the horror of this godforsaken miserable excuse of a life and a turn it to construction paper butterflies and pretty lights in the sky for if not me, who?So I work out, I build, I build up my body, I build up my brain, I build up my bank account but it is ever enough and never enough time for it all time has become this brilliant escape artist who denies me all I want to do. He denies me sleep and leisure, he denies me time with my children and time for work, he denies it all, and I need that time, I need it to build, but I can't.  I will never be smart enough or quick enough or courageous enough or strong enough. Never enough strength why isn't there enough strength? I need sleep but I can't sleep. I can't rest. I am afraid to rest. I feel my own weakness when I rest and that is when the cruelty hits hardest. And when I am on the ground they are exposed so I can't rest, I can't be knocked low I have to stand tall even when every ounce of me screams (oh the screams - the screaming it doesnt stop why doesnt' it stop?) in pain and every part of my soul tells me to just LIE  DOWN ALREADY, I pick my bruised self up and on shaking legs, limp arms, blinded eyes, and a bleeding head and I stand at the fore, again, alone, alone, alone, another day, and another conflict, another pain I must deflect, for these three, because if not me, then who? And the echo in the distance answers: no one. So it must be me.

4 Comments:

At 8:54 PM , Anonymous Anonymous said...

the most incredable writing I have ever read.

 
At 1:02 PM , Blogger the muse said...

Thank you.

 
At 8:52 AM , Blogger ChristineMM said...

I hope you have turned it around since you wrote this. I have BDTD and have come through the other side.

A powerful piece of writing.

 
At 2:32 AM , Blogger the muse said...

Thank you very much. And thank you for sharing.

 

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