primeideal

Renounce me as you would a graven idol.

I'll ruminate. I'll mope and sulk and mourn.

But then I'll learn to tolerate your scorn;

I don't fear anyone's. I fear your pride'll

convince you that you need to be the giant.

You won't cut ties, you'll gently condescend.

You'll say that you admire me, call me friend,

not understanding what makes me defiant.

"It's well and good for others to sing praise,

There's pro- and con- in fessing simple creeds

provoking the smallminded to great deeds--"

That cake's a lie. You can't have it both ways.

There's fawning fans demanding that you lick

their wounds and heal them with your holy tongue.

It's not a crowd I'd like to dwell among--

bloodstained by strangers, a festering clique--

but your heart's always been vaster than mine.

Had supplicants already heard you mention

this matter, slight, unworthy of attention

now that you share their doubts? If so, that's fine.

They're fitting kith for what you have become.

You've found and lost so much along your path,

but surely you recall my love for math

and how I see the world as zero-sum.

Remain standoffish: please don't scrape or bow:

"After you! Please, precede me, I insist!"

These grovelling symmetries won't be missed--

you learned from someone holier-than-thou.

Don't tell me that I'm brilliant or inspire,

merit your time (in this zone or across

the hemispheres)--your gain can be my loss.

I loved you too much to make you a liar.

But in the case that worst should come to worst:

eight billion hands have deigned to pat my head.

I'd rather scorn, untainted, but instead

I'll let you be the eight billion and first.

I love you and I love

who you imagined me to be;

the tower strong enough to be betrayed,

to be toppled and push on,

to forget and to be free,

not to be scarred and not to be afraid.

I love you and the way

you trusted me to take in stride

(I, too naive to gamble with your trust)

a frivolity, a jest,

nothing to shatter fragile pride,

nothing to fester, accumulate disgust.

I love your gracious heart;

you, who were strong enough to kiss

a butt that only knew to patronize.

Who never seemed to wish her ill

though what she left you with was this:

(I wouldn't know; I'd crumpled from the lies

and could not bring myself

to visit any truthful plot

before time and pixels devoured.

I, who love to look back;

except on you, when I could not

contemplate reloading; a mouse that cowered.)

You love the sagas and

you wanted me to share

that love: endurance, brilliance, sacrifice.

You read my face too well;

you knew I'd grow to care,

to rue another's cost for playing nice.

I love you and I know

that you would never speak to judge

me even if I crawled to you in tears.

But someone strong like you

would surely never hold a grudge

like the burnt shards I've carried all these years.

What could you do but laugh

in silence, in your heart

if I told you sometimes that pain burns fresh?

Or worse--you'd see my weakness

and then regret your part

as if you'd known what fire does to flesh.

I cannot even say

"If I could do it all again

To play with fire is not something I'd do."

I wish it was that easy.

I regret so much. But then,

I cannot regret meeting, loving, you.

I've never been the type to get tattoos.
Not for me needless needles, cursed to prick.
And more than that, what image could I choose
That I'll believe in long enough to stick?

A creed? A club? A formula? Though truth
Once proven, one might never contradict,
The length of passions kindled in my youth
Is something I'm too cautious to predict.

But, if I choose my skin to unadorn,
I won't seek respect from the insincere.
I will not hide desire behind scorn,
Though showing love become an act to fear.

There is more than enough noise to dismiss:
Let no true pleasures add their guilt to this.

Current Mood: paranoid

Before I have been backed against this wall

And gave up what might have turned into pride.

I gave what I could, but can't give my all.

There are some things that can't be cast aside.

I can fall silent and just let you speak

And in so doing, pass for one of you.

A noncommittal child, bright but meek

Who lets the false pass by among the true.

If only I knew when the price was paid,

When I could stand back on my own two feet

Without the shame you wish that I was weighed

Down with, ready to move on, and not beat.

The chance for some new game that I could play--

Almost enough that I concede today.

Current Mood: paranoid

I don't believe respect's a two-way street.

Maybe the kindness due all that I meet.

But I'm thinking of the kind of respect

That happens when I suddenly connect

With somebody whose mind is churning faster

Than mine, and whose vision seems rather vaster.

I look up to them. Then I look beyond

To see from whom their inspiration dawned,

And so on until it grows more abstruse

And I remain on the last rung, obtuse.

Once in a while there's a rhyme to spout

Something I can jot down and then throw out,

Bizarre enough to catch somebody's eye

That those I respect respect, up on high.

But if they say they like it, I can tell

It's just because they don't know me that well.

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Entries tagged with poetry: self-absorbed

The Giant

Yes, and

Sonnet (Opening Day 2019)

Sonnet

One-Way

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May 2025

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