To Hell With It Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Why are you here,
At the porch,
Staggering,
Restive like a leaning tree,
The old sycamore, decrepit,
And unwanted –
Why are you here?
There is no room for you here,
No room for anyone but myself

Why are you here,
Inside the living room,
Where I live at 8: 00 AM
And die 10: 19 PM onwards,
Why are you here,
Slowly slithering
Your snake-like body,
Hissing the allure
That I know too well,
And that is why I couldn’t forget.
Why are you here?

You loathe me,
And at night, I wish I did the same,
Where I fret in the dark, this aimless game
Is just as superfluous as the dogs
Making love with the howls
Of the night
You loathe me, abhor me,
In always that you wished to replace me,
As if a tattered vest – but still,
With your presence,
There’s a strict vassalage
Within the borders of my skin, my and visage
Why are you here?

The very sight of you
Makes me ache,
I feel swollen as a swollen world
That is punctured by individuals,
And so, why are you here?
Is it to deride again,
Or to take me back?
To hell with it,
I want you back
Whatever your purpose
Of standing arrogantly,
Speaking condescendingly
May be.