Do You Love Me, Or Just The Idea Of Me?

Do you love me,
Or just the idea of me?

I may be your ‘dream girl’
But I am real,
And that reality is different
From your fantasy.

How often must we fight,
Just to clarify
That you expected
Me to speak differently?

How many tears must fall,
Just to realise
That you expected
Me to be something I’m not?

If you love me,
Please drop your expectations
And open your eyes
To the real me.

My body has blemishes.
I will lose my temper.
I judge unfairly.
I get things wrong. 

I am not perfect,
No one is.
Unless of course,
They’re just a dream.

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Abyss

Slowly
Gently
I realise
I am falling
Into the abyss
That I created

Why can’t you hear my silent screaming?

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

A System Of Inequality

We live
In a system
Of inequality

So utterly brainwashed
Into believing our failures
Stem from inability
To operate within the system
Not the system itself

But what choice do we have?

Who are we
To question
The very system
That raised us?
That fed us?
That educated us?

How can we possibly
Step outside
The paradigm
Of our reality?

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

A Moment That Will Never Come

It feels like
I’ve been preparing
My entire life
For a moment that will never come 

My body is tense
My mind is sharp
Yet I have nothing to do
With such focus

There is no enemy to fight
No emergency to survive
No monumental struggle to overcome
Nothing other than this day
And the next and the one after that

What glory is there to be found
In the daily grind?

How can I be proud of defeating
The mere anxiety of surviving the moment?

. . .

I crave catastrophe
And ache for the apocalypse

Not as a nihilist
But as a person without purpose

There’s little joy to be found in a job
Creating just to consume
Producing just to procreate
Done daily until death

I am a man without meaning
Readying myself for revelation

When survival isn’t assured life is serious
The useless artefacts will fall away
What actually matters will materialise
Focus will be forced towards functionality
Distracting decadences will be discarded
Leaving nothing but the struggle of life

Perhaps then I’ll find real purpose
Maybe existence will feel equanimous

. . .

How privileged
Am I
To lament
The ease of my life

I am blessed
To have never seen war
Or suffering

I am blessed
Yet that blessing
Feels like a curse of meaning

Without an enemy to fight
Without an obstacle to overcome
All this feels dulled
Life feels like a shadow
A mockery of everything I was promised

Thus I create my own demons
Faceless oppressors
That cannot be seen
Or overcome

Then I cry about my problems
Like they actually exist
Writing angsty poems
From a place of privilege

. . .

As a child
I learnt
Vigilance

To survive
I slept light
A knife under my pillow
Waiting for an attack

That attack never came
But I still sleep light
And have made my body into a weapon

I am still vigilant
Waiting for the attack
That will never come

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Anger

My shame
At having you
As my father
Has become
Anger
Directed towards myself
For failing my children
In the same ways
You failed me

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Sacrifices

I wonder if
On the day I finally
‘Make it’
I will regret
The sacrifices
It took
To get there

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

A Day Without Fear

I fear death
But
I fear dying
Having never lived
A day
Without fear
More

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

A Simulacrum of Thought

Every morning
I rise with the sun
Watching with awe
The soft vibrancy
Of cloud and colour

Each sunrise uniquely its own
Yet so similar
That its subtlety
Is often lost

A simulacrum of thought
Overlayed upon reality
Obscuring the beauty
Of the moment

How much of life
Have I lost
In this way?

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Notice Me

I want you
To notice me.

Not for what I have done.
Not for the money I’ve made.
Not even for my art.

No.
I want you to notice me.

Me.

The man behind the artifice.
The man behind the smile.
The man behind the mask.

The man writing these words,
Knowing full well that you will never see them.

The man waiting for change,
Knowing full well that you are stuck in your ways.

The man who’s desperately seeking acknowledgement from a dry well. 

I want you
To notice me.

But I know you won’t.

How could you?

You, who was never there.
You, who looked the other way.
You, who set impossible standards.

You, who never wanted anything to do with me.

Isn’t it funny that despite all of this,
I still want you
To notice me?

Notice me.

Me.

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Rate Me

Rate me,
Review me,
Like me,
Sub me,
Share me,
View me,
And make sure to come back to me.

Or else,
The algorithms will see through me.
They won’t show me
They won’t grow me
And thus,
No one will know me.

So,
If you like me,
And want to encourage me,
And see more of me,
Do this one small thing for me.

Rate me,
Review me,
Like me,
Sub me,
Share me,
View me,
And make sure to come back to me.

---

This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.

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