TOLERANCE

People let a lot of things slide in their life and hold onto a lot of feelings. Sometimes in the worse way possible

Tolerance

Brink by brick

You build these walls so tall and wide

Over and over, its quite repetitive really

It’s suppose to be soothing, calming,or possibly peaceful

But instead it consumes you

Your every thought

Your every moment

Even on the good days or bad days

It’s the loudest whisper in the back of your head

And only you seem to be able to hear it

No one else seems to be bothered so why are you?

So you try to stop

You know the words well

It’s been said all before.

Conceal don’t feel

Put on a show, 

If you make one wrong move, everyone is going know.

You smile, you laugh, you don’t kick up a fuss

Hiding the uncertainty,

You don’t worry, you are aware,

So instead you perform with mastery 

It’s really quite the show

Fooling everyone at the surface

 

But you and me both know that’s not really true

There is this festering, seething, overflowing…..

It’s ugly and it builds oh so slowly

Not all at once

It’s big and unsightly

It leaks,Oozes

Poisons from the inside out

So you light a match

eyes are flicking in the light

Desperately hoping, dreaming for the fuse to spark

Waiting for Some kind of grand explosion

A cleansing of some kind

As if that will make things better again.

But instead the flame goes out and….

Nothing!

There is no explosion 

There is no Boom

It’s the same as it was

You begin to question

 Did anything really happen

Was it a hallucination

 Delusion or possible illusion?

Instead, it just sits there, heavy and aching

It’s rotting there, turning the ground yellow and brown

The bottom seems to be collapsing, caving in on itself

And your left there again

Watching and waiting for something that’s never going to come.

Pathetic or maybe foolish really

So you move on

Ignoring the horrific decaying stench,

After all you seem to be the only one who notices anyway.

So you move on

You laugh, you smile

Grinding painfully so

That it cracks and shatters like glass

Becoming so much bigger and wider

So many gaps left exposed

Air flows in and out, slow and steady

 Only you seems to feel the burn

 So you are left with this stinging sensation

Like a million little papercuts

A pain so insignificant and inconvenient really

But you bear with it after all

What is a little discomfort

You move on

You continue to trudge on and it hurts

But you make damn sure that nothing on the outside is out of place,

The perfect mask of perfection

You run, you laugh you grin so big

In your Blood spattered glory, it snaps just like a single string

Every movement you make begins to bend and break

You begin to slow, uncaring to the movements you seem to be making

Weak and disjointed, not quite right

Even a puppet can do better then you

It’s okay though

You readjust, realign, restring

A full factory reset

You compensate the weight

There is nothing really there after all

Limping along now

Then cycle repeats 

You smile you laugh, oh so wide

It stains, it marks, it becomes imperishable 

Maybe you are hurt?

But again its okay

You move, you creak, and quietly groan

Insisting to the void that its all fine

Who you are trying to prove this too

Nobody knows, not even me

You clap and cheer so loud and proud

Perfectly masking all the bawling0 sounds

Seemingly hiding right in plain slight

The human disaster dumpster fire. 

Reviews

[Carrie]

So down on yourself so negative.

[JayG]

• It’s the loudest whisper in the back of your head And only you seem to be able to hear it

Naa.... You're talking to someone unidentified about things meaningful only to you, who has context and intent guiding their understanding, the only one who "hears it" is you.

For the reader? Someone unknown is lecturing someone not introduced—the person you SHOULD have sent it to. So, what's in it for that reader?

My point is that readers come to poetry to be entertained, not read a letter of complaint to someone unknown, castigating someone not introduced for things unstated. As far as the reader is concerned, the fault may be yours, and the one being attacked, blameless. No way to tell.

My point? The goal isn't to tell the world how you feel, it's to entertain the reader. So instead of talking about your feelings, make the reader feel them. Make the care and feel.

Poets have a superpower, to make the reader feel the emotion THEY choose. But like all professions, it's a learned skill.But still, well worth the effort.

So grab a good book on the basics, like Mary Oliver's, A Poetry Handbook. It's a great book, filled with little gems of knowledge, and well worth the time spent reading it.