Failure

Failure

Failure is an option,

Failure is a dream. 

It’s what seperates whims and fantasies

From unavoidable realities. 

 

It’s time to give up

And face the road ahead

Drink from the forsaken cup

And make my own bed. 

 

The road winds through the rain,

How a snake slithers through the grain. 

And with each lunge a growth falls,

 

Like the Kingdom of us all. 

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Gutter rat By jfarrell

Gutter rat

By jfarrell

 

Born in the gutter,

Drunk, violent parents,

On a council estate,

Stealing next door’s electricity…

How far from the sewers do you expect me to rise?

 

I dragged myself from the excrement,

Covered in bruises,

Both outside and in;

Took that ‘greasy pole’ in both hands

And pulled myself up.

 

After a very thorough scrubbing up and hot wash,

I got myself through college,

Into a career;

Even to the dizzying heights of

‘Acting-Deputy-Officer-in-Charge’.

 

However hard you scrub, however hot the wash,

The stench of the gutter, the sewers,

Stays with you.

Everyone can smell the waste

The rot.

 

And what lives in the rot

Has been eating away at me,

My whole life.

Rat. Rodent. Vermin.

I have always been a gutter rat.

A parasite.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

wonder if i can upgrade and become a stainless steel rat - always loved harry harrison

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Dog-ends

Dog-ends

By jfarrell

 

Stained coffee mugs and frayed shirts;

Dusty unread books on an undusted shelf;

Wallpaper peeling where the rain comes through;

These are the dog-ends of my life.

 

Detritus, clutter builds up around me, unseen;

A forgotten CD here, a photo I forgot to burn there;

A lifetime of junk builds up;

And I live amongst these dog-ends.

 

And now, like the most desperate of smokers,

I must break these dog-ends and build a new one to smoke;

A new life to live;

From the ashes of my dog-ends a dragon will arise.

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

my life is an ashtray

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Final Stage

Disgust, anger, fear, denial, reason, acceptance, denial, acceptance, effort, total acceptance, disappointment, release, rebuilding. 

 

My love for myself must far exceeded all the misguided love I put in you. 

You were my happy space, my blue sky, my lover, and my confidant. 

But I wasn't your jack of all trades in love. 

For so long you were more important than me, to me. 

Then you hit the eject button on our roller coaster of love.  

To my rose colored glasses just as we were getting to another straight. 

In front of me, a hard, I meaneed diamond to safety scissors hard place. 

Behind me, the rock that held Excalibur. 

I had my hands prime to free that sword for so long...

Little did I know it would soon become the weapon lodged deep into my heart. 

My king of a broken kingdom...How fitting is that title?

I thought I failed my son by allowing his vision of a 2 parent filled home to be snatched away. Should have tried harder but that takes two to tango.

Little did I know I was filling his eyes with deception and terrible renditions of a happy home. 

All bad? No not at all. 

No scars or abuse, as it would seem we just forced a round peg in a square hole at the wrong time stamp.

Trips down memory lane? Sorry we don't go that route anymore. 

You made it look so easy, and that ease killed me even more.

If I am ever to rebuild this dynasty it must be on new ground. 

The foundation we once had turned into a sinkhole the size of the Grand Canyon. 

We constantly defend ourselves against the other until we ended up on the attack without conscience effort. 

No fears my heart is trying to get the grand opening sign back up and lit. 

My mind wants to believe in a world that wouldn't just make me view love from a cage. 

No desperation here I can and will wait on my King! 

Until then I will clean my castle and fine tune my Queenly charm, so that it is ready to greet him royally upon his arrival. 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

It's alot and it's a bit of babbling, but it's my heart open for display. I loved, lost, and wish to love again one day much later. This is my healing process. 

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Wrong Sort of Love

Three weeks of torture

Three weeks of pain

Three weeks of waiting for you,

in the pouring rain.


You were the one who said you loved me,

Took my hand in yours,

Told me how happy we could be,

If I married you, and you married me


Nights of talking,

Nights of loving,

Nights of longing to stay,

But curfew got in the way


You were older,

But I was wiser,

You were gentle,

But I was kinder


I don’t long to go back,

But I long for what we had,

That’s impossible though,

You may be gentle but your core is bad.


You can’t marry,

If you’re tangled to another,

I guess I was your secret,

and your lover


Three days after,

You’re on your way,

To see your picture perfect family,

Just like me to beg you to stay,

 

But, unlike me, they won’t be the first to walk away.


Author's Notes/Comments: 

Girlishly wrote this about the wrong kind of man, because I was blindsided in a way that no one should ever be. Reading over it still brings a tear to my eye. 

Consequences

It is the façade that wakes her up and,

Leaves her covered in sweat on a cold night.

This wall of protection,

The consequence of spite.

 

It is the illusion of freedom, which propels her forward,

Leaving many paths and people upturned in her wake.

This wall of fading protection,

The consequence of what is at stake.

 

It is her coping mechanisms which hold her back,

The yearning of men to want her, a need to be alluring.

This broken wall of protection,

The consequence of having an esteem which needs reassuring.

 

It is the distraction from what causes her pain,

That is the real thorn in her side.

The lack of protection,

The consequence of becoming too old to run and hide.

 

Her act is getting old, already one has not believed it,

One has questioned it, and one has praised it, yet others can still be fooled.

This rebuilds and reforms her protection,

The consequence of moving to many “new” schools.

 

The long, sleepless nights have returned,

Broken only by the cusp of dawn,

When her questioning and doubt return themselves to their abyss,

In the dark corners of her mind.

This rips and tears her ephemeral protection.

The consequence of being observant, yet wishing to be blind.


The façade is to protect herself and others,

From what she will and could do.

The necessity no longer protection,

The consequence of discovering yourself, and learning a thing or two.

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This was the very first poem I wrote. It always give me a nostaligic sense of how far (I believe) that I've travelled. 

Self Destruct

Folder: 
Self Loathing

What lies in mind

Are but dreams; rising

A growing wave

An eager uprising                                                                    

What I know

And the differences; believed

Cuffing these hands                     

From possibilities achieved.

What I foster

Are but lightbulb fields; glowing

Never to be picked

Upon my table; showing

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No Escape

Folder: 
Self Loathing

I’m alone in a darkened room

Laying curled up on the floor

With silence haunting; heavy clouds

The rain bleeds down, ever more.

                                                  

The cold air slithers round

 Wrapping its eager piercing claws

Around my throat, so tightly bound

Numbing my heart of everything but flaws

 

Tears stream like rivers

Out of my blackened waterfall spouts

Damning the world of happiness

While I’m living in my world of doubt

 

This floor is cracked and jaded

This soul a mirror of what’s felt

Erasing all the good that lay prints

Searching for hidden sunshine to melt

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grade F

Young man begging outside the train station

Not only is he young but he's also white

Privileged like the queen

Porcelain white skin

He should try being as dark as the night

 

A kid with a kid

That's what her mum called her

Her beautiful baby won't stop crying

Should have just had an abortion

She's Muslim as well

So she thinks she's destined for hell

No hanky panky before marriage

What a disgrace!

 

40 year old male with no driving license

What is it that Margaret Thatcher said?

A man riding a bus at age 26 may count himself a failure

Damn right!

 

Tick Tock Tick Tock

That's your biological clock

30 year old unmarried female

Don't you know you have failed?

Marriage and children is all you're worth.

What a disgrace!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I was bored at work lol.