if you talk
about it
they'll tell you
its just a case
of centring yourself
before
it builds up;
placing yourself
in the moment
and understanding
what cannot be changed

except
there is
no progression
no steady curve
it goes from
a carefully traced line
to a scratched
scrawling scribble
that tears
through leaf
after leaf
of paper
whether the message
is legible
or not

apparently
        its simple;
in that split second
between empathy
        and apathy
before the destruction
of everything
outweighs
the strength
of all
that has been
accomplished
i simply need
to breath deep
and
count
           to
                ten

i'm still waiting
to be told
what to do
when my count
reaches ten
and
i'm still
angry

the problem
with buying clothes
these days
is not knowing
if anything
will fit
properly
or even
suit you
until it arrives

instead
rather than
just return items
that i decide
i don't want
i hunt for
a loose thread
and pick at it;
first
with finger and nail
when that is not enough
next comes
a gnashing of teeth
and
if needs be
i am not above
brandishing scissor
or knife
to split the seam
gaping
wide
before complaining
that the item
is faulty

i am never proud
of myself
when i do it
there would be
no difficulty
in returning it
as unwanted
but
this way
i don't end up
paying postage
twice

i tried on
a new shirt
it fitted ok
not perfectly
by any means
but well enough
               for its price
it would be suitable
for the occasion
i suppose

it could perhaps
be a little longer
as it is liable
to ride up
and reveal my stomach
if i raise my arms
it's also
a little tight
across the chest
if i'm honest
and
now that I think about it
i'm not certain
it actually
suits me

i could just wear
one of my other shirts
that would probably
be more comfortable
and would
save spending
needlessly
there's the old blue one
after all;
i haven't worn that
for awhile

this must be
the correct train
there was not
another option
it was waiting
        on the expected platform
it departed
        at the expected time
and
it headed
        in the expected direction

despite what I might tell myself
i remain on edge
at every juncture
        of the journey
every announcement
sets me on edge
every stop
sees me checking
        double-checking
that this is
the anticipated station
that i am on course

even when assured
of heading
the right way
there is no relaxation
instead
a countdown is commenced
of each station
to be visited
before reaching
that final destination
as each station
is passed
another count is completed;
numbering
one stop less
than the previous

but still
i will lose track
of where i am
of how far i need to go
panic will set in
blinded by doubts
and undue regrets
i will question
it all

an artist
seeking a challenge
a true test of skill
will wait
for the storm to come
before putting brush
to canvas;
the seas
     in uproar
the morning light
     veiled by darkening clouds
the fury
     of the gods
will be cherished

there seems little point
in telling a story
where all is calm
in order
unmarred;
for fear
that all would feel
flat
     vapid
               lifeless

this gallery of tempests
does not signify
never having seen
the beauty of
the sun
resting upon
a peaceful shore;
the fear
is simply that
any attempts
to recreate such moments
might diminish
their worth

the dog
resting peacefully
in his crate
is content
with being
shut in;
essentially
        trapped
only permitted freedom              
at the behest
of another

there was not always
such serenity
behind these bars;
there was howling
                  gnashing
                  whining

cag­ed like that
could not have been
further
from finding comfort

there were rewards
on occasions
though it was unclear
just why
these were offered
and when
the next might appear

with time
it became easier
to simply accept
the limitation
and wait
unenthusiastically
for the next
moment of joy
to come around

however long
that
     might
               be

it just doesn't
come naturally
there's an awkwardness
a failure
to accurately convey
what needs
to be
conveyed

either that
or uncontrolled words
twist sentences
contort the sentiment
that was intended

feigning the expected
mimicking those witnessed
bought success
in the past
but
under closer scrutiny
the charade
would be discovered

for now though;
this silence
has drawn on
far
     too
           long
without response

another chance
wasted