Anonymous

I have become synonymous
with anonymous;
persona non grata,
to the ones
who used to call me,
friend;
a simplistic
statistic,
a shadow
of my former life,
another somebody
who used-to-be
body,
now trying to find
a place called
home.

And the mantra of
'it's going to be better',
'it's going to get better',
is sounding like
a broken record,
which,
even if it was played
digitally,
or projected
subliminally,
would still
amount to
a lot of white noise
against the black void
of my now empty
and broken heart.

But,
ain't nobody tryin'
to hear this,
because we live in a time
where love can be bought
on the internet
or competed for
on reality shows;
where you're only as good
as the last time
you said, 'I love you'
and meant it,
which now,
you can't remember,
because the memory
has been replaced by,
'I don't need you anymore'
or,
'I don't love you anymore'
or,
I don't want to live with you...
anymore
or,
(use any variation of those
aforementioned phrases,
followed by 'anymore')

Love is more than just
in need of love today--
it needs to be reprogrammed
or
rebooted
or
repackaged
or
recycled
or
better yet,
lived up to
its original intent.

In the meantime,
I'm not sitting around
waiting for a revolution
or an evolution
of said love;
or a parking validation
for my time
here on earth;
I've got healing left to do
and more writing;
'get busy living...,
that's goddamn right';
continuing to try to walk
proudly,
slightly bowed,
bent,
not broken,
'announcing my presence
with authority'.

© 2012 Joseph Powell