How Tiresome To Read My Own Words Again Poem by Patti Masterman

How tiresome to read my own words again:
I know the plot and the lines before they happen;
Contrivances of mine cannot make me smile.
Don't ask me to explain these words again
They don't ask me for permission any more
I don't know what thoughts their lies burned through;
The words are a living pain and travesty-
Can't get far enough away not to hear anymore.

I do dream of being human some day,
Having definite plans; an inert love
That can't ever be achieved, as higher goal.
Striving with no hope of conquer,
A noble battle of irreconcilable wills
The outcome already printed out
On posts around the the city
And people nodding in recognition,
That yes, she was a real fighter in her time-
Instead of the comatose existence I always slept around with.

I need an extra set of lives:
One to only sleep for all the other selves,
And one to do battle, face down the enemy.
Another to be conquering hero, recounting all the battles.
Then, a humble self never needing recognition,
And of course, the invisible one who will do everything
I don't want anybody to know about-
And the expendable one, can be killed off, at the end.

The heaviness of the words will collapse some day
Crushing me to death with my illogical analogies,
My overweight metaphors of luggage.
I left them alone by the ring while I hid
In the audience, behind a fat man eating popcorn,
And a drunk woman calling out the shots to the fighters-
My anemic ideas too weak to climb up onto the platform by themselves
What can I do when there is nobody left to do battle for me?