Formerly Badass Horrible Poetry

This isn't just a poetry blog. Let's be honest, a lot of what I post is poetry but there are more often than not also postings about short stories. I do try to keep this blog separate from my others and post strictly creative work here. Some of it will be better than others, and much of it is in first or second draft stage when posted. These are raw works, and there will be spelling and grammar troubles at times because I use this blog to gauge what works and what doesn't. I use it as a place to get feedback. That's the reason it is "horrible". Because it's not finished-- And why should it be? We all want feedback but most of us are too afraid to put ourselves out there.

Welcome to my word.

Monday, September 1, 2014

A Whole Slew of Frustrated

the kind that taps your foot
- the crashing cymbal-
halving the inter-
-val of ticks on your watch:
the frustration of a two hour wait.
that  frustration
that  goddamn  frustration
that frustration that
oozes between pores
the frustration when you run
and diet
and diet
lift weights
and diet
and the scale films a PSA that you've gained two pounds
the frustration of knowing not
how to rewind your mouth
or the hurt look that followed.
the literal burst of frustration
when a snappy looking woman
with tight lips and drawn on eyebrows
beats you to the single stall ladies room.
She is the same women who is always
asking for the manager.
the frustration of sister.
the frustration of parents.
the frustration of baby's first liftoff, baby's first altitude sickness
of his mother
of the other passengers.
The frustration when your narcoleptic boyfriend
passes out before he's texted i love you
or even goodnight
the frustration when you haven't seen him
the frustration when you havent had a good fuck in a while
the frustration when you've had no fucks ever
the frustration when all the fucks have sucked and know they won't get better
the frustration
of longing for  someone
a few towns over, someone
a few turbulences over, someone
you are over, someone
over you, someone
rolled over and nailed in some plywood box
someone unclenching his grasp on your fingers and
won't look you in the eye
or say anything
or do anything
the frustration of someone who lets you walk away with your pride.
thank god it exists to frustrate our lifespans
so we can feel as if we lasted longer
the frustration that it won't end

the frustration that it won't start
the frustration that everything is going fucking perfect
and seems too easy
and you are frustrated because you cannot describe
just how the sun is streaming
dappled light through mirrored glass
and caressing your

©2014 Lex Vex

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