The Real Me

I apologize for the wait

Thank you to those who have been so patient

Thank you to all those who left beautiful comments

Beautiful posts

But mostly beautiful impressions on my heart

 

 

Here is my reveal

Thank you for watching

Paralyzed vocal cord sleep 

On the floor of my jar full of problems 

I have always found that handwritten sentiments contain less of the volatile juxtaposition between you and I

Then your slurred rants always did 

 

My neurons plea for a break

Chained, by their throats 

To a treadmill on high speed 

They either fall and choke to death

In a pathetic lump of blood and road rash

 

Or they hop

 

In an overreactive display of the pain they must endure

It's hard to watch your own brain die

And even harder to watch YOU 

 

They say you can tell a lot about a person 

By looking into their eyes 

So I scrutinized every damn pair of dark, sullen, glazed over eyes as I could find

Hoping to find reason

 

I learned people have barbed-wire bracelets 

Tightly wrapped around their tongues

I learned people live with parents who would rather converse with lawyers and prostitutes 

Than their own spouse 

 

I learned people have dying siblings

 

But don't worry

Because with each match, we burned stronger

 

And for the people who have broken the one-way mirrors that are our pathetic pupils

WELCOME

 

Welcome to the real us 

Untainted by our parents wallets or any number of photography filters 

Welcome to the real me 

A boy with a soul  of helium 

But chain down by the echoes of six grade, top-dog, long hair haters

 

Welcome to the real me 

A forced fighter 

Because MY momma 

She has been beat up real bad 

By this dismal existence we call "life"

There is so little actually alive here

So I promised her that I would finish her final rounds for her

That I would take every hit for her

Before the gloves claimed her instead 

 

Welcome to the real me 

A tree stump throne in the hills

Built to soak up tears of teenagers

And hear EVERY rant about boyfriends, and the social injustice of adolescent mistreatment 

 

Welcome to the real me 

A mop-headed paper shredder 

With a lifetime warrantee 

A reserved child stuck in denial

A one man, first aid equipped, Red Cross ambulance 

 

 

Welcome to the real me 

An energetic harpsichord called "paranoia"

Called ugly 

Called lazy 

Called crazy 

Called "too much"

Some, some even call me a hipster but damn it, don't you dare call me that, don't you even think it 

Mixed tapes and outerwear are no indicator of identity 

 

 

A select few

Have even ventured to call me Alice

Alice S. Blackwell

 

 

But you

You can call me 1:00 AM

You can call me taxi cab driver

'Cause that's all I am to you 

You can call me friend or foe

 

 

You can call me the journal page you ripped out titled "disgust"

You can call me the desk we sawed in half so we could both have work space

 

 

You can call me Isaac 

Isaac McKay Stirland