was going to write an idiotic allegory of a yard sale

the objects for sale were broken hearts, feelings of despair, blossoming love still born before it took a first breath

cheap prices, everything must go

discarded hopes and dreams, nickle a piece, three for a dime

penny dish of frozen moments that ended up meaning nothing but stayed in my mouth and as a snapshot of something nearly beautiful

secrets, priceless but willing to negotiate

childhood bruises from the belt, the branch, the backhand

dish with the first time i got smacked so hard i spit out blood and luckily a baby tooth

that type of heavy handed emotional metaphor

doesn’t work

but i guess it beats another drowning in the torrents of emotional distress as seen as water

or fire

or being crushed in a mine shaft collapse of burdens and unreturned investment

knowing i am not good enough is not, ironically, good enough

don’t think i don’t see it

beaten to death by the cottony silence that drapes my every movement

instead of hurt i feel angry

this flood of fucking words won’t stop

stemming the tide is out of my control

how many garbage poems can one man spit out

five or six a day it seems

writing five thousand words a day and laying in bed as they keep spinning

no deft turn of phrase will ever be enough to make someone fall in love with me

i’m not naive

i know that my lines fall as flat as the metaphors i use

this derivative mess of conjunction and improper pronunciations

i would neatly line it all up on a table on the lawn and let it go for free if it were possible

never write another insipid verse

another ode to revealing one’s heart and soul only to be denied

of this depression that only goes away for those brief seconds before failure beckons it back

but i cannot

so i just let the words do what they will, acknowledge the are weak and uninspired and move on to the next

an allegory on an emotional yard sale

bad ideas, two for one next to the dog eared copy of heartbreak for dummies