If Breathing Was A Choice (Part 2), a poem by Drem

This is Part 2. You can find Part 1 here.

I was born in chronic pain. I was born with illness. I’m not saying I’m upset I was born. But I get really frustrated that I’m this way. And I get annoyed that people pity the martyr who is the caretaker- but she made the decision to have me. I had no choice in the matter.

At the same time, I’m in no way trying to paint a solely dim picture. I simply mostly see hopelessness. Solely because I know my trajectories. Nonetheless, I try to be positive. This is about trying to sort out those feelings in my head.

Still trying to figure this one out and further clarify.

I know the image title and title of poem are different. I’m too tired to change it.

If Breathing Was A Choice (Part 2), by Drem

April 13, 2015

“In no way am I saying

that what this is,

this some, whatever, existence,

what it contains

and perpetuates…

I’m not saying

it’s all filled

with ugly things.

Or, more importantly,

just a grotesque reality.

Or that the Universe would be better,

without all of it stuffed

into it,

absent of me.

No, there’s a risk

for every chance,

opportunity,

that

one can miss.

And the martyr did move.

It’s just,

what was and what is out- me,

is breathing

is reflexive,

inherited.

And my enemies

are thus your enemies.

And you can use me

whenever you please.

It makes me feel alive.

It’s lonely sitting and waiting

for the doorbell.

Of love, or like, to ring.

We’re all not Saturn

or princesses.

We’re real.

And with being real

comes reality.

And with that reality

one can choose

to turn one’s head

to see the beauty.

Gambling, is gambling,

to be clear.

Genetics or roulette.

I didn’t ask for this-

dependencies,

this micromanagement

or the constant reminders that

consuming will make me be even

less attractive.

We’re all tired.

Too tired to write

or hold a pen.

I don’t even know where I went

since my last breath.

Nonetheless, it wasn’t a choice.

 

 


3 thoughts on “If Breathing Was A Choice (Part 2), a poem by Drem

  1. Hopelessness is certainly very difficult to live with day-in day-out. It feels like your mind is endlessly circling a drain and it takes quite a bit of effort to pull back from that. A LOT of effort. Sometimes we’re up to the task. Sometimes we’re not. That’s just life really. (Gah. Life. Can’t live with it. Can’t live without it.)

    Liked by 1 person

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