Organic Matter Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Organic matter. Decomposing sh*t.

A thousand different ways of saying
'get lost', and 'leave me alone.'

Perfect voices who refuse to acknowledge
their humanity. These are what surround me.

Judging my intentions. Insisting that changes
to the mould must come from me.

Keeping watch like snakes coiled on
a desert rock. Attentive only to
the announcements which are issued
from time to time.

Brave words from a heart so very afraid.

Tension. It is the only mantra I conceive.

Isolating desires beneath a million
layers of defensive walls.

'Watch out! '

I muster the courage to demand
this warning.

'The plastic minded drivel of perfection
is always on the move.'

They pain themselves into pictures
where they have
no business being.

Summoning words of
self congratulations.

I fail by their standards.
I do not make the grade.

Verbal games that seemingly
never stop.

I am my own enemy.
I am my own code of honour.

The trapped minds that functions
with and within me are
illusionary beacons of distress.

Organic matter. Decomposing sh*t.