Is being a taunt to others really a life? Dangling as the cover for a hook, luring intended and unintended to their deaths, is that living? Or if I draw you with my attack rather than my appeal is that a worthwhile existence? If I carry myself filled with poison praying for a strike is that anything other than a march to an unhappy grave for two, or more? Hidden under an avalanche of harassment strips me of my vital quality and my soul loses its true nature. I am allowed to transcend the setup of competition and social strife. It’s alright to be tempting with no agenda. I could be an appetizer if only I removed the barbs or better yet I could be dessert.
Tuck tiny wishes between your toes.
JOY IS NOT ENOUGH
I was driving around in my car
Eating a meltingly ripe persimmon
On the radio came a fiddle playing band
Performing their rendition of In The White Room
I was traveling with the three drafts of my first step
Version one consisted of 690-some words
And the final had only four, JOY IS NOT ENOUGH
That’s it, the whole thing.
Today my life is unmanageable
Due to the fact that having a balanced life
Feeling my wide range of feelings, including joy,
Is not sufficient to eliminate the pain and damage of the past.
My horrific childhood has not healed
Has not mended seamlessly
I have joy today, everyday, at some point
In proportion to my sober choices.
I fail to realize the promise doesn’t say, Heal the past
It says, I will not regret the past.
I don’t, at least not any of the choices I made,
Other peoples choices are not mine to regret.
I will not wish to shut the door on the past
And I don’t wish to.
I want it Healed
I may not get my wish
Just because I am doing my part to heal the past
Doesn’t make anyone else do it
I can’t strong-arm the perpetrators into recovery
The way they strong-armed me into the abuse
JOY IS NOT ENOUGH but it’s a hell of a start.