I wish I could make something
That would make people cry
From love and from heartache
From the sheer size
Of emotions inside them
Without knowing why.
Just knowing, “this did it”
“This made my tears fly.”

I guess I don’t relate
The way others do.
What I find profound,
They seem to think is taboo.
What I find droll,
Are the things their brains stew.
I miss feeling
Like I have a clue.

Other people are boxes
With buttons to press.
I know the combinations
I learned them in class.
But it doesn’t feel real.
Manipulation is crass.
So I curl up inside me
Because that seems best.

I’ll continue to make things
Where I like the style;
Things I’ll find later
When I’m cleaning out piles
Of garbage and trash, where they belong
Even though they make me smile.
Because the truth is, I’m someone
And my tears are worthwhile.


About Michael Robinson

An eclectic person living in a world rife with binaries, opposition, anger and pain and trying to find the spectra, love, happiness and catharsis within.
This entry was posted in Creative Writing, Poetry, XX30. Bookmark the permalink.

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