plow my heart
sick of the fleshy freak show
down on the bad boy side show
money doesn’t bring closeness
dead soldiers overload the heartbreak system.
disappointed farmers plow my heart
drive their tractors through my chest
plant corn in the ventricles
tomatoes in the aorta
wash the moss from the abandoned valves
+ wait for next year’s harvest.
sometimes they flood the chambers with smoke
so it doesn’t get too cold in there
sometimes deer come + eat the corn
sometimes the farmers go fishing
instead of tending the field
but the fish are angry
the earthworms are violent
the bridge is painful
the farmers return home filled with regret.
how have I come to such a place
drugs + fake lightning do not drain the well of shame
shame does not feed the corn
shame feeds the darkness
shame is food for the goners.
I should be crying now but I’m not
I should be grieving now but I’m not
I’m the quiet good boy
jumping for the dust mop
organized + clean
I’m the big mouth bad boy
lobbing sex grenades at the silky slinky thighs
deep in the mushrooms on a low budget
waiting for the end of the day
faithful to my creed . . .
I will not fall down again
I will not fall down.
I will not fall
I will not fail
I will not feel.
The plow my heart by Rick Belden, unless otherwise expressly stated, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
2 Comments Add your own
1. marj aka thriver&hellip | December 8th, 2009 at 9:53 pm
Wow, Rick. I really found this one quite powerful. “Shame is food for the goners.” Wow, again. For me, myself, I AM grieving right now. It feels really painful, but I can almost feel the healing, inch by inch. Feeling those feelings is really key for me. It took me a long time to realize it, but I’m glad I finally did. Thank you for your profound writing…for your art.
2. Rick&hellip | December 9th, 2009 at 9:50 am
Thank you for reading and for your comments, Marj. I could tell from your recent blog entries that you were entering deep territory, emotionally and psychologically, and I know how challenging that journey can be. But as you pointed out, that’s where the gold is. Our resistance to our feelings is understandable, a form of protection we developed as children over many years to protect ourselves from what was as intolerable as it was incomprehensible. But as adults that protection we once needed often blocks us from a full experience of ourselves and of life, and keeps us disconnected from the love and support we need and deserve.
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