Monday, March 5

To those closest.

I have something to say, dammit, I cannot be silenced

By line length limitations or truncated attention spans
Or the dumbing down of this fearful generation
Who has less to fear than any who have gone before
And the power grab to control that reprieve sickens me
Like the grief I get from stupid assholes sickens me
I am a product of my parents, of course it's their doing
Whatever Sheila, Heath, and I ended up becoming,
Not consciously on their part, but they should own up to
The role that genetics and parenting foists upon
Each mortal person, who has no idea of grand unification.
I have no ideas of grand unification anymore.
Still I have something to say, and it is not pleasant.
I will take my life the moment I have the chance
If falls within the tolerances I have set for pain
And remains, and other considerations. I contemplate
This thing anew every day, advance plans a bit further
And I'm so jaded it's like I've watched a life-changing
Movie for the hundredth time, about to start over.
I have lots to give to a world interested in listening,
Maybe a Greek world, or someplace which only exists
In our imaginations, like Peter Pan or in Einstein's equations.
The world we live in certainly doesn't want to hear it
They beat me down with reprimanding optimism when I voice it.
I want to say that life is pointless unless you have the
Genes to give you energy and talent, the formula to make
A difference, the recipe to persevere, the stamina.
For talent alone is not enough, I've tried and failed.
Now all I can hope for is to leave that trunk full of sheafs
Of contributory paper, and if something changes and we
Go back to the 19th century stone age, these will be read
And possibly cherished, or at least acknowledged.
As it is, when I die, I don't expect to be remembered
Outside some tight circle of wishy washy people with
Nothing much to say, who have no dynamism or charisma
And to whom I've absolutely nothing to relate, blind
And meaningless as they are; I'll be a fallen star
Unseen or heard in my time, pitied, left for dead by shallow
People who cannot see past the ends of their noses.

3 comments:

Hans said...

there's a rule that you may not have heard of....forgiveness is a noble thing to do. Just tell your family what you need and not in a poem. On the phone, in an email, etc. We don't know what to do for you and have left it up to professionals, who must not be doing their jobs, but your family is in the dark...we don't know how to help. We aren't demons. We love you and are compassionate even though sometimes it doesn't seem so. Why would I be writing this if I didn't care. Why would Bill bother to email you and ask to help. Why don't we try again. I love you tremendously and don't want to lose you to some "thing" that has taken a hold of your mind. Please quit being angry at the world, at your family and friends, and be clear on what you need, please. One way or another call someone who will let me know what is going on. PLEASE, if you care in the least.

Metamatician said...

I'll answer this in a private email.

Anonymous said...

Asking this person what they need is like asking a blind person what color sweater you are wearing.

An intervention is needed. This person clearly wants to commit suicide.

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