Strings

strings they tug,
strings they release.
Whenever you refuse,
they want in on your action,
they want a piece.

strings they come,
strings they go.
When you claim your independence,
they then begin to collect,
they go against your flow.

strings they give,
strings they take.
When you need a helping hand,
they satisfy your need,
they pretend to do it nobly,
for your sake.

But strings they push,
and they pull,
Just when you had began,
to trust them in full.
They take away
twice what they gave,
Just when you think,
You might be safe.

Strings they come,
with most things in life.
People often attach them,
to the simplest favors and actions,
never thinking about it twice,
copying one-another,
just like sheep.

We’re living in this new world,
where all things now, have a price.
Even friendships are all for sale,
with puppet-strings in place
down at our sleeves,
pushing and pulling erratically,
to entertain the puppet-masters’
otherwise empty lives, with our strings,
sadly confirming each and every one
of their derogatory and outdated beliefs.

Comfortable Skin

when does my skin
become comfortable?
I’ve tried skinny…
I’ve tried fat…
I’ve tried witty…
I’ve tried bland…
None so far fit right,
They were often either
too big,
too smart,
or too tight.
So I kept shedding each new skin,
one after the other,
hoping to find a perfect fit,
seems I’ll keep searching
since I still haven’t found “it” !
Now very few skins are left out there,
that I didn’t try,
At this rate,
I might after all,
get to them all
right before I die.

Words

Words are my best friends
whenever I can name my pain,
they keep me company,
in my crowded but lonely mind,
as I suffer, trying to stay sane.
When I’m scared and away from home,
they comfort me better than
any other friend I couldpossibly find.
Then they’re also my worst enemy
when my pain doesn’t have a name.
They often betray me,
Disappearing like a ghost,
Just when I need them the most.

Like many best friends
and worst enemies, they just leave,
making the two, one in the same.
Life has a way of happening to me
in many ways I cannot explain.
That’s when I turn to people,
hoping they will let me blow off steam,
and listen as I babble and complain.
I complain that my words lack fidelity,
I complain of their fickle ways,
But most of all I complain
that they come back to haunt me,
just when I need them the least.
They come back out of the vast blue
and force me to relive,
my suppressed anger and my pain.
Then they tell me I have nothing left to lose,
and just some closure I can hope to gain.