"Pulse Four: Press"

"Pulse Four: Press" 

If diamonds are forever,
why can't coal be
the first date?
We see it all.
We treat it all
like it's first rate.
Like the birth date
although it lasts
barely ten months
now every memory
just hurts like a punt.
Squib kick controller.
Swore by slow roller
but it's third and nine.
Already fourteen behind.
Watched me drop back.
No more zone.
Jump the route
as it was thrown 

then we timed out. 

There's no doubt
that you acknowledged greatness.
Just never thought
the moments fought
would become my greatest recollection.
Detection was never an option.
Rejection left me dormant.
The lonely soul
out of control.
Letter received.
I've torn it to shreds.
There on the bed is
the stuffed animal's head.
I threw away the body.
Holes in clothes
I've peeled back
to reveal that to
those who ask "who shot me?" 

You got me.

I took a chance with the bandit.
Didn't go quite how we planned it
but I've gained from the gesture.
A lot of pain,
long months of strain
but I needed the pressure.
The lecture states
that to be great
there must be some impedance.
A crippling blow.
A "Please don't go!"
A little more. 

I need this. 

Thrown to the sky.
No soaring high.
That's just not what rocks do.
They break and crack
from falling back.
Couldn't do this without you.
I'm smart to doubt
that you'll take the credit.
It's not only yours.
Squared off with friction
long before this.
You're just a little more. 

Complimentary ex tradition.
An aggressive extradition.
Subscription to separation.
An inclination towards
making the process harder
than it was ever intended to be.
When we finally tumble,
crack and crumble,
one will search through the rubble
that we both may shine bright. 

The path felt wrong
but the process was enrichment.
Heaven sent with demonic trials.
Siphoned into vials
and now preserved and cherished
across hearts
that may know nothing of our start
but aren't willing to tear us apart. 

We shine better together when we aren't. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz 

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"Pulse Three: Align"

"Pulse Three: Align"

Truth ain't pretty
so we say it has potential,
add a little glitter ...
after etching with the stencil.
Black as ink at night
yet we still reach for the pencil
to desperately erase
disgrace like it rubs off
and here come the smudges
and here comes the judgement
that you swore you never saw coming.

You were "blind sided."

That's when I'm quiet....

....because if I speak my mind,
you'll just walk away.
When you move through life blind,
you'll be far away from it all.
No response to your calls.
No real place to unwind.
There's no quality time
to share with those you trust.

Trust....

.....Truth ain't pretty
so we say it needs a face-lift.
Higher hired expectations.
Gave reality a pink slip.
Outer space trips
from tummy tuck
to thigh gaps
and you glorify the dozens
who don't mind that.
Never mind that
you were so much more
long before
the masque hid perceived imperfections.
Long before the chore
of applying more to stave off detection.
Who is the score of one
too focused on self dereliction
to ever really care about
the impending direction?

Truth ain't pretty....
............wait.

Heard you say
that you pray
that I've had enough today
because I know
you're not okay
and want to help
you find a way
but I'm pushing
you away.
How I should
want you to stay
but logic
keeps you at bay

but this is life.

and it comes with a taste
that is constantly acquired.
Not one palate cleanser
or true temperature required.
Desired by who has less
and more by those who squander.
Mission meant less for critics
and the cynics left to wander.
Things I ponder in the present
carve out time in the interim
until present becomes past
and circumstance delivers them
like a slap across the face
that lands flat beyond the waist
onto the lap to close the case

and that imprint you can't erase.

For the sake of sanity
and to avert calamity,
I stagger out the fantasy
for a dose of the reality
that truth ain't pretty
and there is no way
to doll it up
but when things start getting gritty,
look at who knuckles down
and calls it up...
Going will get tough
and the weak should be exposed,
ripped from their designer clothes,
cast into the world in droves

until they listen when we say
that we know they hope and pray
but we will not cease today
Yes.
We know it's not okay.
Would love to help you find a way
but you push against the proof.
Branches break when you uproot.
The collapse of rotten fruit
upon your face.

Ain't that the truth?

What is ugly?

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

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