Treasure Island

Norman Santos

(Nov.19,1990 / Philippines)

Loath and Fear


If I would rely on phrenology,
Or science, or mythology,
I'd burn down this damned city
And disembark in a conclusion
Of the ugly veracity:
I loathe everything!
I fear everything!
I loathe that I am writing about loathing
And I fear that I might lose every one
Though I barely have anyone,
So I loathe even more on this fear.
I loathe that I write about myself all the time, and
I fear that I might not be writing at all
I loathe that I would narrate a story
In the surreal slopes of enigma, and
I fear, afterwards, that no one will pry
To understand or even console.
I loathe that my mouth cannot mouth
What my hands opted to write, and
I fear that my hands aren't equipped
To write what I cannot mouth.
I loathe even more that I build walls
For people to beat down and divulge
The forlorn boy inside, and yet
I fear to be found.
And I loathe to the point of breaking
That no one ever cared to pry
And that makes me shudder in fear, and
I fear this kind of loathing
And loathe this kind of fear.
I loathe that I cannot gain readers, and
I fear that I may never have
I loathe that readers appreciates the writing
But not the congealed brook
Between the lines of it, and
I fear that they might not even
Appreciate the spilled blood
In every line of it.
I loathe, I fear,
That apart from writing
I am never good at anything
Except maybe from fearing and loathing.
I loathe that I blame the past
For making me loathe a lot, and
For making me fear a lot
For making me loathe sports, and
For making me fear trying
And all the brusquely recreations
And the shame of failing.
I loathe, I fear,
That I was turned
To be a loathing misanthrope
From a fearing diffident
Or perhaps not,
Perhaps, I am both.
I loathe, I fear,
The mad man that I am
Smoking the emaciation out
For I loathe and fear the society
And their chauvinistic beliefs.
I fear that I am ninety pounds flat,
I loathe that I am not doing anything,
And I loathe and fear my loathing and fearing
Because I fear that all I have left
Is my loathing to strengthen myself.
I loathe my poor drinking limit
And I loathe the carousals
As much as I fear encompassing the line
And fearing the toll of carousals
For I never get inebriated
In loathe and fear.
I loathe the carousing table
For they are full of shallow people
Except for one person, perhaps
And I loathe and I fear,
That I may not be him.
I loathe that I am poor
Because I am jobless
And so are my parents.
I loathe, I fear,
That when I finish college
And finally get a job
That I cannot think for myself
Because my shoulders are donned
With so much unsolicited weights;
I loathe that I loathe it
Because it makes me a loathing glutton
Self-centered and loathsome, and
I fear all this loathing
For the very same reasons.
I loathe that I do not have friends
And that I cannot have friends
And that I loathe my friends, and
I fear that I can loathe my friends
Or not having thereof
For I fear to realize
That I do not even know what I want
Or that no one knows what I want.
I loathe that I do not have the facilities
And sometimes the interest
And there is nothing much fearful
Than loathing your fears
And fearing your loathing
From your fears.
I fear the approaching season
For I am bound to loathe even more
That the people are carousing
For not a single reason
Whilst I loathe, whilst I fear
Not having anything.
And despite me inscribing these
I loathe that I am doing these, and
I fear that I am not doing these right.
I loathe and fear that I am hopeful
Again and again after another failure
And I loathe, and I fear,
That even with a fractured cranium
I would still go for another try
And I loathe even more
And I fear even more
That I loathe, and that I fear,
But never give up
On loath and fear.

Submitted: Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Edited: Saturday, June 16, 2012

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