The Ladder of Hope

By now I should have figured it out
Who am I and what am I all about?
I'm not anything by definition
A stack of many grand delusions
But I should have had something by now
A job I know and some luxuries allowed
Instead I feel like the last kid writing a test
Struggling to get through, his worst at its best
And if it wasn't enough to feel this dumb
My machine is faulty and I'm feeling numb
Finding irony in that numbness can be felt
Trying to laugh, hoping my fears melt
What of hope and all that it never brings?
Just a ladder leaning against nothing
Yet the fool that I am continues to hope
Even as I fumble on the slippery slope
I am ever the wounded optimist
Slowly infected by the pessimist
Yet I find no point in all of me
Write as I do, poems are all they'll ever be

© Rahul Chidambaran 2015

Funny Not Funny

Funny how things are usually not funny
Forever tiptoeing on the sidelines
Kicking the dirt as I look up once in a while and feel no less an outcast

Go play with the other kids they used to say
But how? Why would they want to do that?
Today as then, feeling an invisible barrier between me and the world
Still somewhat withdrawn, still somewhat in my shell
Still incomplete
Asking me what's wrong is like trying to use a lighter when the fuel has run out
Pointless and frustrating
The root of the problem is so deeply buried under the mountain that is every failure and every sadness and mythical unturned rocks that may or may not exist.
You could catch me when I fall but I may keep falling
Landing nowhere and everywhere at the same time, an implosion within an explosion
I cannot tell if I've been moving too fast or if everything else has while I stood still
Getting lost within the shoulda woulda coulda's, being left with my hands still empty
The desire to escape persists as does the burn up in ash and nicotine

Go play with the other kids they used to say
I never did really
For the times I've kicked a ball around, I couldn't tell you if I was running home or walking the plank
Then again, I couldn't tell you where home is

Funny how things are usually not funny
Forever tiptoeing on the threshold of nothing in particular
Kicking the dirt as I look up once in a while and feel no more at ease than I do at home