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I'm hard to know
This is a poem I wrote called "The Mason Jar"
It should give you a glimpse
At a moments notice I can love, I can give all that I am,
It is the desire that no other shall ever hurt as bad as I,
that I can.
To truly take on and feel for another, to own another's sorrow,
To try to ease ones pain, to make others smile,
I do it with a desperate anxiousness, like there's no tomorrow.
As if the last candle were burning, and I was the last chance at dawn.
I burrow through a cold cavernous dark, unthinking, unwanting,
hoping only to bring calm.
When I see the tears of those, I see the tears I never got to cry,
when I hear the cries of my beloved, inside I want to die.
Why are they not here?
A little boy is full of life, often thought of as happy go lucky.
not a care in the world.
As the sirens awaken him, he's struck blind by the sight of mom,
face down, the blood flows from her face, the old man is in question.
The floor is cold beneath the little boys feet.
Why was I there?
I can be comical, I often come alive,
I do it for others, in hopes that they will strive.
Success for me comes easy, it is for others I try to pass,
in hopes that they can enjoy, and be the best in the class.
I was hurting, I was tired, they all had better lives.
No one knew I would go home to a hell.
A mental prison,
Nothing could compare to the darkened feeling,
of walking up the steps to the house,
where inside, amongst the dizzied frantic torture,
my mind had fell.
Why are they not here?
When I can pray only to make life easier for others,
without any hope of my own recovery, I get a glimpse,
ever so small.
Of a life on the outside,
instead of life inside my mind,
my mind with a wall.
I love to love, of whom I don't care.
I do it with a passion, I do it with a flare.
I will do it the rest of my life, hoping someone will care.
Hoping some will care enough to love as well,
hoping that it will rub off.
I will love those that I hate, those that I dislike.
I will forgive all that is unforgivable, I will hold no grudge.
I will amaze those around me, with my capacity for love.
I will love those I don't know,
I will love those I wish I hadn't.
I will love, I will love, I will love.
Why are they not here?
The lights are bright as you are suddenly awakened at 2 am.
The hotness of the leather as it cracks across your legs of bare, is fearfully familiar.
You know there is more, when will your time be up? Who is next in line?
Will the others get it or will tonight be just you?
The light is gone but the hotness is not. You cry ever so quietly to sleep.
hoping not to arouse the source of your sting. Your brother is crying too.
Doen't anybody understand?
Why was I there?
I'll gather melodies from birdies that fly, and compose you a tune.
I'll write a song that makes your heart reach the moon.
My orchestration of chorus, will touch you and move you.
My creativeness will bring happiness,
of which you never thought you'd know.
You will crave to hear it, again and again.
You praise and raise me, we will rejoice in the feeling.
You will carry it forever.
It is only I who will know it was my escape.
why are they not here?
Life inside the mason jar is airless, each moment is a gasp.
The water is cold and it's rising, the giant with the shit eating smile is closing the lid.
Screwing it on tighter. As you rise to the top you realize you are never going to get out.
You are going to rise up for a while, then sink again.
You will swim to the top for the rest of your life, you may even tread, a time or two.
but eventually, you will sink to the bottom again. As you lose the strength to swim you will
grasp at the sides. The glass walls are slippery. As you nudge back up you peer through the glass.
Only to see the man with the shit eating smile thumping the side of the jar, with his finger.
Causing you to lose hold and sink to the bottom again.
Why was I there?
If I could give that which I don't have, I would do it. and most of the time I try to will it.
If I can't will it, I will create it. I must give.
I must try to understand. If it is you that I can understand, than I feel better for having served.
If it is me with whom you can confide, I gain grace only in knowing that your trust in me is safe.
I will exemplify this to extremes in hopes that you will know, that real trust can exist. that your secrets can be safe with
another, for it is I who knows and can never know nothing of it's possibility.
I will be the life of the party, grace all with my charm.
My personality will be gripping.
Only I will know that I am hiding out at the Tanson farm.
That Brian, what a great find!
I will be looked up too. I will be respected, I will be well liked.
I will be talked about all the time in the most loving of ways, and sometimes with concern.
Always with the preface of, "I like Brian".
It's cold in the outhouse.
I sit and I chew tobacco, maybe a smoke or two.
I blow the harmonica or the horn. Play a guitar.
The rain doesn't get in so I'm ok. Old man Tanson built this thing 70 years ago when he was 20.
He makes his way down the path to see what I'm up too. we share a laugh or two, and an antedote that old timers
are good for. The it's back to my solitude in the outhouse. Dad can't find me here.
When I do come out though, my fantasy will be over, and my torture will resume.
The hardwood floor goes unnoticed to my pajama bottomed knee's.
The horse I'm playing with has me for a moment, as it would any boy of five.
Then I look in the other room to see the man with the shit eating smile rip the teeth from my mothers head with his bare hands.
Too unbelievable for most so it's not often brought up.
I'm locked, can't get out. fuck it, no, not fuck it.
I did have a release once. I would play and play and play.
I took that from myself, my only salvation.
doesn't anybody know?
Later I would ride and I would listen and listen and listen.
Somebody took that from me. What hurts is that they knew.
Can't I live? Can't I have? Can't I be happy? Can't I be understood?
Can't I not hurt?
Can't I be normal for a day?
Just one fucking day? okay half a day? how bout an hour?
Or maybe just a minute or two? Can't I?
Can I get out? Please? Can I come out and play?
Please don't laugh.
Why are they not here?
I'm hurting again today.
Brian Greendahl
I heard this next poem once and have often wondered which side of the poem I was on.
Oh no, don't go,
It's hours till dawn
And there's no one,
who'd rather be with you
I know, you know,
other girls like me
I let you take my love
Knowing you don't love me
But if I could reach you some way,
If i knew the magic it would take,
To love you good enough on the outside,
And make you feel it on the inside,
Maybe I could make you stay.
If I could reach you
The dark, is getting light,
And you're dressed to go,
And never said a word, about tomorrow,
But if I could reach you some way,
If I knew the magic it would take,
To love you good enough on the outside,
And make you feel it on the inside,
Maybe I could make you stay.
See ya next time.
I'll see ya, .... Next time.