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Construct
by Timothy SomersEach of them built me up,
in their image
in their mind
in a scrimmage with their own conscience,
sometimes with carelessness
and a not very kind finality.
I never strove to be
what they thought of me,
just better.
Each of them tore me down,
just to have me around,
just to hear the sound of their heartbreak,
when I turned out like they imagined.
I never cared to be
what they destroyed in me,
just better.
The stars knew,
they saw with timelessness,
the foolishness,
the constant mess they made,
and knew better.
Each of them pushed me down,
on the mental side,
on the sexual slide,
knowing better.
I wish I could say
they evaporated,
that Im not constipated
mentally,
by their machinations,
by their conflagrations,
by their bye the bye,
but Id lie to myself once more,
and they passed on anyway.
I wouldnt stay
in that nice, neat,
shiny-new, fresh-with-glue
deluded, secluded room without-a-view
and funky wallpaper.
09/26/2006 Posted on 09/27/2006
Copyright © 2025 Timothy Somers
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gira Bryant on 10/26/07 at 04:28 AM I wonder, sometimes, if we strive to be better than the pedestals others put us on, or better than we know ourselves to be? In the end, when the sandcastles have all fallen down, all we're left with is ourselves and the striving, and perhaps the want of it all. |
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