My Own Personal Berlin Wall

Location

 

Memories are a part of me,

They drift apart from me.

So many thoughts, just like my old matchbox cars,

Simpler times---remember pogo sticks and toy guns,

and that fake lawn mower that made me like daddy,

Pieces of my presence that make me a kid.

Not athletic or intellectually keen.

 

I remember a time when I was just nine,

Every small event was a new pin drop, a place I had to be.

The same recurring line, of a mime,

HE was like me.

 

I put on a different facade every day so people understand me,

I make funny jokes and think they are actually funny so they remember me,

I purposely make myself look stupid so people notice me,

And take the time to talk to me.

 

All the faces, the pointed fingers,

Make my face burn cold like liquid nitrogen.

It stings.

I can't feel my thin mentality that breaks so easily,

It peels off like a snake loses it's skin.

You can feel the eyes peering down your back,

And you shrivel up like a grape in the sun.

 

Memories are ingrained in everything.

Every thought I have gets stored in the vault of shame,

There goes another one---one more.

Your hair is too long, your face is full of acne,

It makes you look like Rudolph,

And like you forgot to get a vaccine.

 

Anyone want to hang with me?

I see no hands raised, no difference made.

Indifferent to the water-cooler,

And the crew that acts like the main.

The main act of the show I can't stand.

I can't laugh or brand my name in the sand.

No remembrance.

 

My mind is constantly contemplating and

rearranging my faults and my daily list of events

That leads to everlasting reservation and temptation.

What happened to all the good times,

The fun things we did?

Lost in transport as they make their way down the black hole of cravings,

Craving for that one last fun thing,

Like tubing or chugging bottles of whipped cream,

Or was it shaving cream?

 

What happened to all the difficult situations that made up our livelihood?

The ones that gave us butterflies,

But, in the end, rewarded the sweetest pollen,

That made honey fit for a king.

 

I can't live a life full of memories that can't memorize

The formula of circumference or the value of pi,

Because those life events would be damn lies.

And I try to remember what I was doing in those old pictures

that show me as a young kid with my hands down my pants, but I can't.

Whatever this life is, is convinced that it is of some sort of well-defined substance,

But, when I put it through spell check,

No replacements were found.

 

No replacement for my so well-defined imperfections,

My Momma and Daddy,

So well off and caring as they are,

So much that they used to be scared of dropping me,

Letting me go without following close behind,

Practically crushing, uprooting my limbs.

 

It's a disease that suppresses my recollection,

Of events that happened, and are happening,

Not so long before, or practically history,

Imposingly, eventually, they slip through and I can't help but question what is reality,

Imaginatively secreted through my Berlin Wall,

Built tall and strong with the dead ends of my mask,

And people ask for my proudest memories?

 

Gotta make sure to sketch my name into the ancient bricks before they fall,

And it all comes crashing down.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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