reversespectaclepen

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**A Plea for Understanding**

In the shadow of our conversations,

I am thrown back years,

To the days when fear gripped the wheel,

And self-loathing was my daily meal.

Silent cries for help fell on ears

That offered empathy in fleeting moments.

I’ve battled shadows,

Climbed from depths where hope barely breathes,

Yet your words,

Sharp and constant,

Slice through my progress,

Reducing me to a sniveling heap.

I feel guilty,

Not for deeds done or left undone,

But for being.

Guilt, a heavy chain,

Forged from wealth unearned,

Opportunities unclaimed,

And your whispered expectations.

I walk a tightrope,

Between the need to share,

And the fear of your rebuttal,

Your wisdom wielded like a sword,

Dismissing my every ache,

My every doubt.

I do not seek pity,

Nor ask for apologies unneeded,

I ask only for space,

To feel without the storm of your correction,

To exist without the weight of your sadness.

In this tangled web of love and frustration,

I wish for your understanding,

Not bought with my breakdowns,

But given freely,

In the calm before the storm.

Hold your wisdom,

Not as a weapon,

But as a guide.

Give me the tools,

Not just the tasks,

To navigate this labyrinth of guilt and growth.

Let my feelings breathe,

Untethered by guilt,

Unafraid of your disappointment.

For in the end,

It’s love that drives this plea,

The desire for a bridge,

Not built on pity or correction,

But on mutual understanding and respect.

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Arranging furniture in the

petri-dish of life

Single celled amoebas gloss over glossaries in the back of the home-owner manual. Stacks of books detailing the layouts that afford the most Feng shui sit in the corner. But single celled amoebas don’t know the first thing about moving in.

-lp

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Ive never looked in the mirror and seen hand-soap where my face should appear

Perhaps if I were to look nearer I’d catch a jumping glimpse of what I’d expect to be revealed. Lavender and lilies that are promised to froth with jubilation upon your hands placement. So with a smash the sink decides I’m in the right and relinquishes responsibility for its after thought. My mistakes bread the unbearable crimson.

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Little lapis lilies wish ill wishes upon my vision; sometimes just three or four makes lethargic lily pads pool up precariously - just in time

Standing still make my vision move- makes movement in my vision. Surly saved by sacrosanct spruce, only to see - of course - I’ll surely lose.

Leaving the left corner of the lily padded river, leaves gather in congregation to acknowledge that which shouldn’t be acknowledged.

A blank dull buzz, or the best you can imagine one, a clean vision. I’ll speak literally from now on. Sweet trees that babied rocks and stones nested in subtle damp moss which gave way to the slow trinkle of thought and inevitability

-lp

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Prawn Porn gains more viewers daily than any other national aquatic sport

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I write this to acknowledge Cliques

This moment I sit in seems to persist, never not with it. Why can’t I miss. It rings in my ears and I deny it’s kiss, for I know I’ll have my chance any moment I wish. What scares me the most is what lays beyond, if the moment doesn’t persist - what will I’ve missed?

-lp

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Small acts of self defiance

Is what confirms the small crook in my neck. Just a peddle away down the lane; the doctor could fix me up! His short stupor contradicts the way he had his glasses fixed.

“What seems to be the issue miss?”

“I believe my neck does me a disservice”

“Well how did you discern this?”

“I know my place is fixed, and I shouldn’t bother to mix, but truly I didn’t understand the risk! It seemed the right and just thing to do”

“Now let me show you how I’d handle this, miss”

Clam shells with a hard kiss, ring the neck and twist

-lp

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Rummage through those old oak drawers; where’s the joint you’ve stashed? The state of the wool warriors is shameful, shall I lay them to rest? A sanitized white box for my degeneracy is beginning to degrade my generosity - with persistent wines, I decapitate that unholy vine

-lp

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Second bell’s chime; I linger in the moment too long - the moment invades me

-lp

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Hulu and Booze

for the next hour or

two

i

won't have a pulse

but

don't

be concerned, it's normal

now

i'm what you call a

para-

som-

nam-

bulist,

meaning:

running

on

nightmares

all day

all terror

all panic

dog-eared psych books

what's wrong with me?

frog-legged leaper skipping

scary lily pads

what's wrong with me?

sharing night tremors

and spreading rumors

(of a weak heart)

hear it murmur murmur

can it just fuckin stop already?

i don't know who i am

i don't

know if i ever was

i sure as hell won't

find out on Instagram

i don't need a vacation i

need a replacement

my brain is

dislocated at the bridge

good luck escaping the island

the rescue team's having a

smoke

and

smoke signals dissipate

poof -- what was it

you were saying?

i wasn't listening

i was

busy leafing through

this campy pamphlet

that cambridge analytica published

they claim you live at

3670 ███████ ave

if it's true i'm

coming through with

Hulu and booze

take a shot every time

i lose my train of thought

(we're sloshed

now)

next stop : full stop.

i'm just toshing

for some flushed trezha

i'm just tossing Chaucer's

saucy words on my

flying sausa

i'm just broken English | factured grammar

fax my grandma daddy's

dangling hammer

put some fuckin pants on

© @parasomnambulist March 19, 2021

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If I were to take the feeling of this day and give it to the hands inside my head to feel, they would say that it feels good. That’s the only explanation I have, I do not care if it doesn’t make sense

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Heather Havrilesky, How to Be a Person in the World

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dating is weird (2019)

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Hate is hell, and you’re the devil

Love is a bicycle, built for two.

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Who took my thoughts from today? I put them by my breast; perhaps they fell into my chest and were devoured by the dead bear who lives there.

-lp

Another short piece from my journal

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Why do you look for signs in Man when Nature throws stones for fun?

-lp

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I can’t get enough

But what if you’ve had your share? Do I suffocate you with the threads from my damp cloth - I see them turn you all the blues, yet you reassure me you’re a peach. And so the threads dive between your waves and hold tight in spite. I cry for you, but my tears learn the loom and give birth to the days end.

-lp