curse of the writer.

 curse of the writer.

no deep experience, feeling
should go unexpressed, unwritten
just like adam said to eve,
"let's not leave that apple unbitten"

"it's glistening there, so ripe,
just for us, friends of innocence,
lovers of the sun"...

yet "damned", don't we know
what their mistake caused
some mistakes can't be undone
or re-thought

after the fact, after the shame
i know this well,
a masochist, master, at self blame

cutting myself up,
from the inside out
isn't self hatred, what's being
"just a human" is all about?

"nothing that memorable"
in a sea of beautiful bodies
who cares, who stops, take notice
if most, within, are empty and rotting

that's what it seems,
that's what it feels
place of "me first" grabs and steals

of the light, "the spot, the lime"
of every dollar and every dime
to add to bank accounts, so stuffed
to live your dreams,
it's a matter of "must"

be.like.everyone.else.
"get with it"
and if you can't
"then just forget it"

hopes and wishes,
in the wind, they cry
so bleeds the man with no one
at his side

for longer than, the fleeting moment
if you're gonna pay a price,
then at least you can own it

the reality that,
you live in your own reality
and on "mockings and cockings"
you developed quite an ingrained
"doomed mentality"

the violence of sex,
the sex of violence
learned it by ten,
what "esteem" was, this "mine-ness"

called escape from the body
and a flee from "the self"
spent 48 lifetimes,
dying, trying, to be somebody else

never got it right, for long
seems that's the gift
reserved only for the strong

and all the laughter,
that aforementioned "mocking"
mix that with the unzipped pants,
face plant, "cocking"

the feel of the belt, cheap leather
on my cheek
oh, so many evils, that the awake
cannot speak

curse of the writer,
or just an " out to pasture, put" cocksucker

too many times, too many lines
fed them, read them
as truth, lost my mind...

but never my heart,
that's the other curse, it seems
"too big, too much, too intense",
no one needs

"over thinking", "over feeling",
see where it gets you,
see where it leads...

think, return to the beginning,
"crazy kids", adam and eve
blame it on the temptation to try
to "love more", to believe

when merely
"human isn't good enough",

as a kid, that knowledge,
burned into me
'cuz what i witnessed "humans"
doing to one another

i could never let myself be.

and though far from perfect,
flawed and fractured, to forever
curse of the writer,
you cannot say, if i loved you
did i not mean it, show it
write it in the sky, for you, whether

or not you "got it",
felt anything, similar, back

some of us, struck here
surrounded, the insight,
what this land truly lacks

(real love, unwavering, and a truth
of heart, innocence, tenderness
worth coveting, treasuring, savoring)

for you, i felt it,
beyond rational, or wounds,
understanding
and so i risked it all
beyond shame and "that apple"
me, here, just a "forbidden fruit"
bearing the curse of the writer
and the "out pour of my heart"

for the backlash, the back, fall
"silence is golden" and "normal"
therefore, the less words the better
reminded, time and again,
the apple, crumbled and ripe,
the "not again" sin,

reprimanding.

bowen hart roselli
12 december 2020
ringwald love