After the Honeymoon Phase

Thu, 07/23/2015 - 12:17 -- Dean_P

Every relationship has its ups and downs right?


And the ups can match the downs hell,

the downs can outnumber the ups

as long as one truth remains, that we exist better 



See as being a sport it is hard to make you better

because you are not some theory I can prove nor the Mona LIsa,

see I can't just slice my fingertips and add color to your cheeks.

Paint a rosy red smile on your face with all the joy

and pain you cause me dripping down my wrists.

Why because you, my sport are a thought based in an idea of perfection that is constantly altered.


Yet still I stand at the alter I've built

out of broken bones, torn ligaments, gritted teeth. And 

I speak to a world of people who would have never known you, of your goodness.

I open the holy sanctity of you and perform your miracles, flying 30ft high for happiness,

bringing glory to the sport of trampoline.


See for most of you witht the question, 'Trampoline?' 

Yes, trampoline.

A 14x7 nylon stringed trampoline. The love of my life without the capacity to love in return yet,

I commit, have committed for 10 years. More than a runner's high the euphoria of you

shoots me into outer space.


Until I am brought back to earth by the price.

'Cause you make me pay for every bounce. See, I thought I was paying with my family, my time

my grades, my future, but while my eyes were blind you robbed me.


While my scrawny frame was building muscle my capacity for empathy

was withering. You demanded to be my purpose for breathing yet the only way 

to love an inanimate object so completely, is to un-animate myself.


I can carry myself in any situation communicate ideas, make friends without a common language.

Yet you speak to me in whispers of victory but shouts of insecurity surrounded by whites

who are ingrained with prejudice so deep they don't smell that they exhale its stench


See, you aren't making me better anymore.

You've gotten comfortable with my commitment, my dedication, my conditioning.

Like the end of a marraige, I plan on serving you papers. I am just getting my affairs in place.

This poem is about: 


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