attempting to be human here.

 


imaginary lives
or
the one that isn't mine
what is the secret
what is it like?

most would think, this
a complete waste of time
lucky you then,
those who haven't thoroughly
and completely lost their mind

from being so sick,
so tired, being you
as in me, all i see
through this prism of psyche, bleed
the greatest day and joy
of my life, will be the day I'm
gone, as in "over", released

so come on, tell me
cuz I'd really like to know..
a life beyond the bedroom, hollow
easy cum and sleazy go
quick to fall to my knees
and blow
oh wait, holy shit...
that was like, twelve lifetimes ago..

sorry, the time, it escapes me,
a blur
why I'm still here,
don't ask me, not sure..

i can't "get a grip",
i can't gain a grasp
on what exactly my purpose,
my "good"
as in "good for", so i wander
feeling, thinking i should..

be more "this",
be more "that"..
just can't seem to find my place
where it's at..

i have a talent for torment
and tears..
and look where it's got me,
living trapped, lost in fears...

of aging, war waging
and "do you hate me yet?", engaging
prone to emotions,
intense on scale
somewhere between "love me"
and "fuck it all", cross so nailed..

to my back, sewn, self-imposed
the reasons why, really
nobody knows..
least of all me,
this hunger to be skyward
and free...

just always been a "creepy crawly"
thing, woke up one day,
realizing i was me...

a geek, a freak
a fag, a lag..
behind the boys
and girls too..

in the bushes i learned
i was at least, kinda good for a screw
and that bent me up..
cuz "what did that position, from behind
have anything to do with finding love?"

it didn't, me idiot
but i kept on going..
same direction, downward,
the spiral
perfecting my "good boy"
prince of bending and blowing..

so now that's all dead
and buried, for years..

and i wonder what it's like
to get together with a gang
and have a few beers..

to be the life of the party,
quite charming
to have the kind of charisma
so captivating, confident, disarming..

to be so handsome
i could have anyone, anything
i want
i will never know these things,
so let me put it straight, and blunt

when you live inside
your own skin, mind forever
it's like a prison you long to escape
but can't, ever

except for the magic,
fucking miracle
called love
yet even that, like starvation
is never quite the enough,
for enough...

to bare the weight of
always attempting
to be human here
as in better, stronger, noble
of character
when nothing will ever
justify my merit, worth..

so "fuck it", faster
and forget me, quick
lay me down, lay it on,
good and thick

imaginary lives,
imagining what it's like to be you
that's so much better,
so much more fascinating, true

and with that, I'll get back to it
so thanks for listening
and hooray, now
I'm through...


bowen hart roselli
4 september 2020
ringwald love