Merciel

My attempt for day 28 of the 2011 April PAD Challenge.

In a world without sin, no jealousy
would’ve pulled me from my betrothed, no lust
would’ve pushed me into her friend, no pride
would’ve prevented apology, no wrath
would’ve pressed her patience, no gluttony
would’ve pawed for fresher meat, no greed
would’ve pilfered her. I’d end up no sloth.

In this world rapt of sin, forced chastity
led me to pornography, forced diligence
lost me in circles of hell, forced charity
left me a pauper, forced temperance
locked me in walls, forced patience
lengthened my famine, forced humility
lushed me in bitters I hid with forced kindness.

In this world rapt of sin, my lust
drove me westward, my greed
desperate to meet my idol, my gluttony
didn’t stop with her, my envy
devoured your attention, my pride
dazzled you with glitter, my wrath
determined to destroy you. I was no sloth.

In this world rapt of sin, no humility
could corrupt my confidence, no chastity
could crush our consummation, no patience
could keep me at bay, no temperance
could compel me to fast, no charity
could consume our wealth, no kindness
could come without you–no diligence.

My attempt for day 27 of the 2011 April PAD Challenge.

The worst of dreams is falling into pits
and not to wake even after I hit
the bottom. I lie there with broken bones
and cry for help, but nobody will roam
these depths anymore. Though I flail and scream,
I never wake from this recurring dream.

The worst of dreams is suffering her laugh
after I garnered the courage to ask
her out. My every flaw’s reflected off
her eyes, I’d flee to my clock tower if
I could move. Once she said yes only to
break me in front of everyone I knew.

The worst of dreams is failing school again.
The prodigy I once was vanished when
life drafted me to battle demons, so
when finals have arrived, I’m unprepared.
Why bother? Afterward, I vow to try
again next year (if the demons have died).

The worst of dreams is work without an end,
a daily sacrifice without a friend.
Without prestige, it’s just a drudge. The clocks
spin rapidly, but time remains still. Doors
won’t open, but the key is never found.
No window exists from which to jump out.

The worst of dreams is memories replayed.
Old tragedies pour seasoning on stains,
old victories grow stale and lose their taste.
The sweetest ones will always end when light
heralds another forgettable day–
those are the ones that cause me the most pain.

The monsters don’t scare me. They’re make-believe,
but the real demons devour me, leave
me shivering in the basement on knees
in prayer to fall into another dream
where I’m the king of Avalon. My queen
beside me, together eternally.

My attempt for day 26 of the 2011 April PAD Challenge.

He crashed their party at the pub,
a reunion unwelcome by the girl
beside him in the booth. He matched her glare
with glossy smiles and whitened teeth;
he even offered to buy her a drink
(or three; however many she would need).

Her senses blurred until she didn’t mind
him caressing her shirt. He feigned a slur
as he encouraged her to match each drink
he drank–his tolerance had grown since church.
Despite her Irish genes, she couldn’t keep
the pace with single-minded ambition.

Beneath the table, their hands explored each
other’s pants. Her eyes adrift, his own affixed
on breasts he’d always dreamt to touch. She laughed
at dirty jokes he told, rehearsed the days
before. Their audience sat silently;
he hoped they’d remember the day–for her.

When last call came, her friends pulled her away,
but he pulled back with his feathery touch
and body doused in Axe. He led her
out into the warm night to his
apartment a corner away, shampooed
and dusted just for such an occasion.

My attempt for day 26 of the 2011 April PAD Challenge.

Driving to the mall, alone
in the front seat, his best friend
with the boy in back. They laugh
at inside jokes he can’t understand
as he waits for the green light,
for an opportunity to join
his best friend again, but minutes pass–
he’s already in the lot.

Close behind he follows her
as she listens to the boy’s
comedy routine. He laughs along,
stammers when they pass the Apple Store,
the one place he’d hoped to go.
Neither slow. Instead, the boy
cracks a joke about his speech. She
laughs again. He follows closely behind.

Three hours later, his opportunity–
her alone with him. She reaches
into her back pocket and pulls
out her phone and texts a friend of hers.
Minutes pass–he blurts out the
only words he knows. The two
she’s already heard too often. She
smiles, runs as the restroom door
opens, hugs the other boy. His
nemesis. Her friend. Best friend.

My attempt for day 25 of the 2011 April PAD Challenge.

Pulled from the Earth by a single bungee cord,
I clutched the purple harness wrapped around me
as faces became blurry specks, their shouted
words carried off by the park’s commotion.
The concrete below had never appeared
so menacing as it did from above.

Two hundred feet later, the apex of my
ascent, a stillness followed suggesting
possibilities that turned every creak
into a crisis. All I heard up there
was wind. My friends below couldn’t hear if
I screamed, not that I could’ve through clenched teeth.

The woman below with the megaphone
says “3, 2, 1, go!” I slip shaky fingers
through the metal loop and tug. It releases.

I fall fifty feet
in a single second–
limbs flail for support–
the ground zooms at me–
then the wind catches me–
it cradles me back
and forth as faces
below shrink and grow–

My attempt for day 23 of the 2011 April PAD Challenge.

For decades, you told me you’d change
my life. Instead you fed me habits
I couldn’t break and locked me up
in solitary. You return in new attire–
your glamour polished–but I know
your face behind the sparkle, all
the blemishes nobody sees
except for those you broke–like me.

Profound words flaunted hide the trivia
beneath. The noise clogs my mind until
it’s hard to think. You waste my wealth
on hoarding junk I’d never need
except to plug the holes in walls
I’d rather tear down. Never have
you helped in urgent times. You just
distracted me as you fondled
me. Perversions polluted thoughts
until I couldn’t look into
the eyes of my best friends. You stole
me into fantasies I couldn’t
escape, but as your glamour fades, it’s clear
you’re just another video game.

Don’t call me ’cause I won’t return.
Don’t tempt me with another promise;
you haven’t paid your original debt.
Don’t reach through friends I found in your absence
because they don’t like you much either. It’s
too late. I’m going back to the books I read
before you interrupted me.

My attempt for day 15 of the 2011 April PAD Challenge. I’ll catch up eventually.

Angel’s merely a mask to muffle
the memories of peers who remember me.
Hobbies and Interests are accessories
to make faded high school clothing sparkle
like the current trends, which I say I read.
Photo albums flaunt snapshots of celebrities
I paid hundreds to meet. One even hugged me!
She’s the one whose lyrics I tweet.
I check in at clubs I pass during drives
and post updates about fabulous nights
I have with imaginary friends.
Finally, I am beautiful! The truth
might not be so pretty, but no one will see it.

My attempt for day 21 of the 2011 April PAD Challenge. I like how much more I could write when I begin with index cards!

I confess the motive to return here

was neither vision nor omen nor sign,

but loneliness. The torture of old fears

compelled me to fall back into the time

I saw potential, not shame, in the mirror,

when magic, not consequence, blessed my life



I hoped old weeds couldn’t bind me again;

I walked now with a strut, eyes toward the sky,

and smiles for all; repent crusades fought when

I lost my mind. This time, each word from my

tongue would mend, not condemn. I’d make old friends

anew with cleaner wit and brighter shine.



But summer sizzled off the surface bloom.

My season of growth sprouted only shrubs;

the Fall returned with a downpour of gloom

no shelter tempered, not even the drugs.

The forecast was clear: Each night in my room,

alone, stagnate away, a dead-end scrub.



But she appeared with a familiar flame.

Eyes like the Sea; her hair shined with the Sun;

Her voice a stream so sweet, it even tamed

my desert tongue. I dove into her, un-

afraid of consequence. She felt the same.

Each night, we came together–two as one.



But then she vanished like everyone else;

ambition drove her to another state

and left me here, surviving by myself

among the childhood friends I grew to hate.

Though phone calls preserved the feelings we felt,

they’d wither away once I was replaced.



I sit alone among strangers in pews

a year older, no wiser than before.

To leave would admit defeat, to refuse

would force me to suffer this weekly chore

when I should be chasing another muse.

I just don’t know what to do anymore.

My attempt for day 11 of the 2011 April PAD Challenge.

Though words suggested I might change my mind,
we both already knew it was goodbye.
Even through text, the bitterness and lie
were obvious. There’d be no other time.

The calls and texts and pokes she often left
had ceased. At home, alone, I imagined
she flogged herself over that day she sinned
against me, drowning in restless regret.

The latter months sprung upon
me. She already found my replacement.
Just as my anger readied to relent,
hope of reunion had already gone.

Every evening alone at home, I plead
with God to return her or make her bleed.

My entry for day 9 of the 2011 April PAD Challenge.

My body rises from the bed;
my mind is only half-awake.
It’s dragged along the morning walk
full of pep talks–affirmations–
but offers nothing, still in dreams–
ancient nostalgic fantasies.

Sunshine can’t compel it to rise,
it won’t unfreeze hit by the breeze
that widens eyes and clenches teeth,
leaves me a mummy, shivering.
No empty threat to withhold sex
can force it to an active state.

I arrive home in self-reproach,
microwave leftover meat,
grab a Pepsi, turn on the Mac
and wander through the Internet
the entire day until midnight
when my mind finally awakes.

I cram out poems before eyes shut
in dread of work five hours away,
then fall to bed too tired to change,
lulling myself to sleep with chants,
“I’ll begin it right tomorrow.
This time, I’m serious.” Again.