A Story & A Promise
10:20, a work day done,
Parking at home, 10:51.
On my balcony, wife and cats
My calm and comfort, that.
And then appears suddenly, a little down the way,
A man who I thought I left on good terms with the other day.
“Hey you, come over here”
Nah, bro, you come, chill, have a beer.
But something in the eyes wasn’t right.
And then it was evident it was time for a fight.
I sent my loves inside, lock the door.
I don’t know what this guy wants to fight for.
Drunk, (I think confused also) agitated, simply irate.
Because of something someone said he felt was said in hate.
I said something in hate in front of your girl? Are you sure?
Because the one time I was at your place, she slept. I never met her.
I tried to calm, to have his anger quelled.
But he kept on with the p**** and f*****, and a fight is what that spelled.
Hit me once, a thought across my mind,
He hit me again, break legs, arms unbind,
Hit thrice, fine. The snooze button I’ll find.
Dip, then quickly up, touch the zygomatic.
Lights out, sleep is automatic.
I asked when he woke,
“Chill dude” is what I spoke.
But on his feet again, he restarted.
I watch the swing, easy deflect,
But make his head ring, I reject.
A touch on the jaw, just to stumble.
I don’t want this stupid, unnecessary rumble.
Eventually, finally, he leaves, thanks to a friend with a phone
Who heard the scuffle and didn’t want me fighting alone.
No blue boys called, but the threat was enough
To stop someone who apparently has unsettled stuff.
So with this in mind, I think I might have changed.
I am patient, I am merciful, it’s what I’ve chosen and arranged.
But maybe I was wrong. Maybe I need to be more violent.
Because maybe it’s wrong for me to let him yell and insult while I’m silent.
Know now, next time I’ll be faster
And next time I’ll put your head through the plaster.
You stupid motherfucker, attack me at my home?
Scare my wife to be alone?
Next time, I won’t let off til it’s a bloody mess of a dome.
Next time. You’ll be begging me to let you use a phone.
Because yeah, maybe I write poems, that’s how I flow.
I am soft and gentle, and have that glow.
But I wasn’t born in softness, I came from blood-soaked lands.
And I promise, poetry isn’t the only art I make with these hands.
17 notes
·
View notes
15. January 2024
SO our company keeps a pretty nifty insurance on all of us. (we have universal in my country, but getting to go to private and actually get looked at etc is just wow)
This year it has an annual mental health check, which you needed to fill out on your laptop, and you immediately got your results back.
i didn't know you can get NEGATIVE scores on these tests.
i did.. its -11
when i say the alert message wasn't yellow, or orange it was fckin RED..
even the site said they are concerned for me.. bish i lived like this all my life, you dont need to be concerned :D
I am still howling and wheezing about it, while my coworkers plan to stay on my good side, in case something snaps.
0 notes