Featured Poet -  Mark Erwin

OPTIONS

Wrists heal, 

acid burns,

ropes snap 

and pills hurt.

Drowning works

but my bath leaks.

I need a distraction,

bought a keyboard.

INTRUDE

“Always have things to do”

they say to fight off the gloom

days planned out from wall to wall,

are better than having no day at all.

Yet keeping busy is a blunder,

busy hands leave a mind to wonder,

of thoughts that bring tears to tired eyes

and remind the owner they hate their life.

It’s not as easy as a schedule full,

or fake smiles that hurt to pull,

or talking it out with experts old,

or finding friends to add to the fold.

Not a moment goes without their chime,

they speak up whatever the time.

Deciding to be heard then and now,

they’ll ruin your day, then take a bow.

Maybe one day these thoughts so brass

will be beaten with a graceful class

for now though, I’ll do these simple tasks,

hoping these thoughts will get bored and pass.



BEES



I move slowly compared to the world

or at least the world in my head.

Little bees glide past leaving their stings,

stings that keep me up in my bed.

I struggle to sleep a lot of these nights,

up at 3 then 4 stressed about school,

about work about love, my shortcomings persist,

rewinding and rewinding that I play the fool

Sometimes it gets too much for me,

builds then builds then fades to black.

I wake up on the floor embarrassed and ashamed.

It takes a day for the pain to leave my back.

I read a lot about the Greek gods,

about Zues and Poseidon and all their mistakes.

Sometimes I think I’m just like Atlas,

wondering how much weight my body can take.

Although I don’t think I’m that important,

for some reason the world keeps giving me more,

stresses more worries but never some peace

or an evening that doesn’t include a chore.

Those bees keep buzzing and buzzing,

leaving large then larger pains in my chest.

Replaying my mistakes then playing them again

when I’m only just trying my best.

HOPE

It’s happening again,

I’m getting sad.

A repeating motion that changes with the moon.

I hope it leaves again soon.

Things that made me laugh,

don’t even spur out a chuckle,

hopefully the sadness doesn’t,

cause me to buckle.

Hopefully it fades away soon

and takes some of this weight,

so I can once again stand up straight.

Hopefully the clouds drift apart

and the fogginess leaves my sight,

so my smile will grow bright.

Hopefully just that.

A bit of hope on the side.

A bit of hope that will hold me over the tide.

A bit of hope that it’ll get better.

A bit of hope that will hold me here like a tether.

That I’ll storm this horrible weather.

A bit of hope.



SLOTH

I've got a sloth on my shoulders,

that slows me down throughout the day.

He leans on my head and forces me down,

I'd live on the floor if he had his way.

This morning, he sat on my chest,

making me to stay under the covers.

As I lay looking at the ceiling,

the world was seeped of all colour.

On my way to work he grabbed my ankles,

as I walked along he was dragged.

He held my feet down and got all scuffed,

the bottom of my jeans are in rags.

When I got home, I sat to rest

and immediately my eyes had shut.

Holding him all day had taken a toll,

It was night before I woke up

I opened my eyes to him watching me,

I tried to throw him off with all my might.

Eventually I moved to the dinner table

and sat to eat without appetite.

Climbing up the stairs with him on my back,

each step higher caused more strife.

He pulled me onto my unmade bed,

To sleep off more of my life.



STUDS AND STORIES

I don’t think I can take care of this body.

I don’t want to maintain it, I want to tear it down

So nothings left but the studs and stories

That I can slowly build up from again

Using the right shapes and sounds

The right clothes and hairstyles

The right cadences and walking gaits

For now though, I’m stuck with this

This wrong body that needs maintained

This wrong body that needs to exist

Until it doesn’t