The Shallow End: A Poem

The Shallow End

Frustration

What's the causation? 

Help me. 

I-I need to breathe. 

Begging for validation,

I am...

   I am.

A short breath out when 

I need attention. 

My breath is caught;

My heart is racing.

I am lost in a world so full

  of lies & expectations.

What do we need to do?

Please help me,

help me

out of this hole reality 

has dug

through these standards.

I just can't be

me.

Stress rhymes with mess -

Which summarizes

who I've been 

for the past 17 years. 

Make no mistake,

I'm not perfect.

But instead, I'm never worth it.

I mean, thats just how I feel inside of

my mind.  

Short of breath, 

hair's a mess.

Constantly filling myself with lies; 

time after time. 

Reminding everyone around me, 

reminding those who feel I'm the one to despise. 

Help me

find out who I truly am,

instead of the girl 

with a mask 

forced to pretend; 

and please her fellow man.

& her peers,

who just don't understand her fears,

these trials 

that she endures. 

Out of breath. 

Frustration

Misery

Stress

and Depression

always find me quicker than

love could --

or just so it seems 

That's a shame, 

but not your loss..

At least you are happy.

Low self esteem, 

no confidence - ever for show.

A ghost of one

 who could've

who would've

who should've

but just didn't.

Happiness is trivial, 

it's not guaranteed. 

Save yourself now -- live for you today,

because even the most selfless

find themselves 

begging 

for recognition. 

jmp.

Dear 911: Please // A Poem On Hurricane Katrina

Dear 911: Please

“Please help.”

My voice is strong; my heart is beating.

My wife is alive and blood pulses through her veins.

The water is low – we don’t panic.

And I can still breathe.

“Please send help.”

My voice is loud; my heart still beating.

My wife is calm; blood courses quietly through her veins.

The water fills the first floor; we cringe when we hear the dogs whining.

But I can still breathe.

“I’m begging, please send help.”

My voice is cracking; my heart – beating.

My wife is sweating; her pulse – quickening.

The water fills the second floor and we hold hands tightly.

But I can still breathe.

“Please, we need help.”

My voice is desperate – my heart is pounding.

My wife is coughing – her pulse is fading.

The water touches my waist; we pray to God almighty.

But I can still breathe.

“Please I need help.”

My voice is pleasing; my heart now racing.

My wife is under – her blood slowly stops coursing.

The water touches my neck – my screams drowning with the person who completes me.

Now I can hardly breathe.

“Please.”

My voice is weak; my heart now slowing.

My wife’s hazel eyes catch mine as she floats by.

The water is nearly above me – my tears join the murk below me.

And I no longer want to breathe. 

jmp.

* This poem was inspired by true events that occurred during Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans.

Wanderlust: A Poem

Wanderlust 

I'm in love 

with the souls of those 

who wish to 

wander; 

With those who find 

beauty in 

none other than 

that which they aim to be. 

My soul yearns to escape;

to travel so

very

very

far away from here.

I wish to escape 

this box

that society uses to 

trap me inside 

of...

it's standards,

it's manner

in which it expects me to recede

I want to go

far,

far

away from this reality 

that encases

me.

wanderlust

a word that describes the 

yearning

of being away from here 

I'm in love with

the souls of those 

who wish to wander,

who travel,

who will themselves,

to escape;

to survive 

daily

by being on the outside 

Welcome Home

the outside world whispers

finally

when I let myself

wander.

jmp.

Mirrors: A Slam Poem

Mirrors 

All I've ever wanted in life it to be 

perfect... 

To never let failure infect

what I plan to be.

I'm terrified of becoming a reject,

a subject, 

of what society considers a 

side effect... 

Perfect in society means I get 

respect

from those who aim to protect

what they consider a positive outcome of

natural {select}ion... 

Perfection is an infection 

that plagues a society with an 

obsession with acceptation.

When will I find myself headed in 

the right direction;

when I have a connection 

with a society that has such

high expectations...

You see, I'm constantly searching for 

validation to accept

the reputation that precedes me. 

Because I'm no exception 

to the perfection that society believes we all need.

Overall, I struggle with regret

because I'm obsessed

with finally being able to connect

{direct}ly with 

society's constant interject. 

And although my silhouette

I cannot yet completely accept, 

I confess -- that for now -- 

I'm content with being

imperfect. 

jmp.