jenga

having been abused
of the notion
of disillusion
since the first
tentative swings
of the wire hanger
led to the steady
building of walls
between myself and
emotional constructs
on the sandy soil
made of crushed dreams
a one man jenga
using wrecking balls
instead of gentle pressure
only to stand
dumbfounded
in the piles of
recursive wreckage.

the shame comes
when there is no one blame
but yourself.

in the pillars of smoke
that signify
the last feeble attempt
in a string
of last feeble attempts
there is a clarity
in the haze.

some people
find themselves falling
only to be caught
by the grasping hands
of hope.

others fall eternally.

my face is chapped
by the buffeting winds
as i slap the hands
along the way
sharing a momentary connection
in the disconnect
between what i yearned for
and what was
actually there.

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