Frustration lingers as in individual endeavor, many sharing, yet the division and level held within is independent. Frustration is ignorance. Frustration knows your own potential and not executing based on it. Frustration is being a “nice” guy. When eagerness and selflessness becomes your weakness and not an attribute, is frustration. Frustration personified is teaching someone the right way to do something as per experience and the choice still remains with the active, and to assume your method supercedes the individual choice frustrates. Experience is only learned within, and telling only compels the inner need for learning.

Frustration lingers in repetition. When life wastes away, each and every day, sometimes a skipped beat is enough to cause mass hysteria, because the realization realized means a change, unexpected. Hardest on myself, because no one else can be so hard, because they don’t know me the way I know myself. Frustration is the language barrier between someone who smokes weed and cigs because it makes them feel good, when the first breath ever taken of it’s miserable, and a person of clean lungs, because neither can understand one another, especially since both are too busy coughing, one of deathly toxins inhaled, and the other because of deathly toxins exhaled and inhaled again. Frustration is the language between one who has loved and one who has loved too much. Compromise unfound is frustration. The most frustrating thing is to make sense of what I just wrote.

01/18/2004

Author's Note: One of the poems that came about with a word given to me by Mom. Frustration...talk about my last 7 months... Miss ya mom

Posted on 03/30/2005
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