Rooted Poem by Andrus Cassian

Staring off into space again
atmospheric pressure at 20 and dropping
a feather crashing to the ground from the clouds
Listless and lifeless, soaking in sweat
from a sun to a son
creating an omelet sunny side up upon padded grassy scenery
Nothing new, an average summer day
The forecast offers shade and rest but the heat is intense
the cover from harmful rays being fruitless
an apple tree is much needed but water is the necessity
the necessity to quench a deep thirst but I worked parched
get through the day, get through these hours
come out stronger, come out hungrier

Maybe somehow, someway
transform some of this inner anger to a positive force
craft something beautiful out of hands that only await destruction
craft something elegant from hands that only breathe clumsiness
These limbs only know how to break, never once knew how to mend
we've always just bended
we only know how to stay jagged like a dagger
which is why straight lines can never be drawn
The straight comedic man cannot draw straight lines
There's always a straight line but I always take shortcuts
back-ways, the longest way to take the shortest ending

I could go through the operations
the tactical, strategic, elaborate strategies inside my head
to describe the intricacies into why I am the way I am
yet Mother Nature is scolding me or attempting to aid in this task
of tilling the ground, of tending to her children
Not by ridding, that's not the correct term
but giving rest to those who couldn't make it
is what I'd like to imagine it as but I'm not a gardener
I did study the craft ever so briefly
though truthfully I'm simply here
to help my aging father in his duties
so he doesn't wear himself out
Though truthfully I'm simply here
to help my aging father in his duties
selfishly so I can be useful, so I don't spend the day in room
singing useless, burying this giant head of misery
in dreams and disillusions that will never materialize
Failing, getting back up, succeeding to fail again
Repeat that for 10 months and counting
The record simply refusing to skip this tired song
quoting Mokena by Real Friends
A spur of the moment thinking
Can the role of Mokena be played by Esmeralda

I am the writer, the author so I guess it all goes well
I am the conductor, I have the power
yet allow me to think out loud with my fingers momentarily
The purpose of this prose today is simple
what I would like to say if this was coherent
If all I managed to write down was relevant
This would be a five star classic
Classically, this is nothing
A fantastic epic of something
This is an editor's note
Admittingly, I forgot Esmeralda
I know her name, hardly remember her face
I remember her ties to me
But forgot her significance, forgot her impact
At this current time of writing, she has no frame of impulse
No space or place in this current iteration of my timeline
I don't know, I didn't know if I gave her a name yet
When I constructed this piece of mastery in training
And that was Tuesday
Said to myself that I'll have to search my memoirs for the truth
to give myself a clue, go back to the time machine
have dinner with jealous, hoping that will refresh hazy memory
wondering why is it now that she appears from thin air
A dandelion speck in the breeze

I didn't wish for her, didn't blow on a pinwheel
with her name on the back of every dividing fan
so I could see her name light up with colors
like it born in the Vegas city lights
I didn't wish for her
See a shooting star and call for her
with twin tear streaks streaming down my cheeks
to come back for me
All I did was stare down at my feet, underneath a tree
A force-field to hide from the heat seeking detection of the sun
When her name thought appeared in the shade of song
Passing through like a dragonfly
Furiously, yet elegantly
and then disappeared as fast as she appeared
Still I can't discern why her image has lingered
Honestly, I won't sit here and lie
I won't fight and reveal I miss her, at least presently
I miss everyone I've come across who stayed with me for too long
I need my own version of Rosa and Reseda by Aaron West
I need my own version of Rosa to be that friend
Who can give me a kick, who can be that motivation
To rid my body of this overwhelming reign depression has had
I will not be a peasant to my emotions
Is the decree running through my bloodstream, the rebellion
I will not let negativity run rampant through my street,
the resistance shouts yet the officers of my fate
keep clamping down the nails I keep pulling from my hands
attaching me to this cross I can't peel myself from

Esmeralda, the new Mokena
She could've been that friend, she should've been that friend
she would've been that friend but it was me
It always is, my eternal worst enemy
The heart of gold coated in a jaded soul of coal
I was in a tough spot
life finding way after way to make me unable to save
Put in a pot to simmer and stew
a slew of ingredients to make me old instead of new
To turn me from a childish sheep, a simple bunny with baby teeth
Into a wolf with hungry fangs, a temper unbound
Allowing so much rage
Alone, secluded in my box
Craving acceptance after the wicked witches three
Took turns playing soccer with my sanity
It was like that for a while I needed someone
to help keep me from stumbling
A foot caught on a train track
With one false move, I could've lost my life falling face first
Yet she cushioned the fall time and time again
Providing hope in me that I could leave my wasteland
Gather funds in hopes to reach her
Gather my things in knapsack
hop on a plane and be a few short miles from her
While my excuses of trying to get somewhere rang hollow
after opportunities constantly keep closing every door upon me
I tried to force open
She stopped becoming a safety net little by little
I made my intentions clear, I made my wishes upon her ears
Her eyes twin stars told them like wishing wells
Turned shallow like puddles drying in the sun
When those wishes turned into excuses to why I couldn't put on my shoes and run her way
Whittled down was her hope for me that she left
She just left, didn't say a word
No goodbye, no explanation until I asked a few years later
If memory serves, it tore my heart out
To be abandoned, given up on again
Time after time
Asking openly to anyone who would dare share
What did I do wrong
Why couldn't I hold onto anyone
Why couldn't anyone stay
Why am I the forgotten son, the forgotten one, the defeated artist
Why is it always me

But that was back when I was 19
5 years have passed, I guess I'm starting to relapse
If I'm thinking cryptically of our relationship
behind the scenes in full sequence
Out of the pages of my diary
I know her name, I just don't remember her face well
Nor the place where I last saw her smile
I just know she has a baby, she's happy
Or at least as happy as one can be in their twenties
Esmeralda isn't putting one ounce thought into me
10 bucks says since 10 bucks is really all I have
10 bucks says Mokena is not thinking of me
So why after 5 years does my brain conjure up her existence
It's persistence to find fond memories astound me
If only fond memories were it's calling card
Like nightmares finding life to try and take mine
The only memories that spring to the well of revival
Only revive to tell me in due time
that truthfully I was always this way
I was always the misfit, the miserable one, the defeated artist
Yet I wear those now with complaints
I wear those now with badges of honor
I wear those now not in terms to forget
in terms to become better
I would feign ignorance and tell you the reason is unknown
Though I know why
and the reason is as unremarkable as you may think
It's to put my mind at ease, revel in my own mysteries
Even when all I can see is how bleak being an adult has been
Positively I'm attempting to fix all the kinks and defections
Unfortunately I'm synced up to the audio of misery
and my arms are too short
to reach the cord to untangle their threads
Lay me threadbare, on a patch of fully alive grass
Let photosynthesis take me, allow Mother Nature to give me life
Just don't let the worms proceed to eat me alive