TheLegendsLeague | Bryan Espiritu

I’m still alone.
I’m still two yards,
both front and back,
two dogs, a cat,
a beautiful wife and a sunshine reminder
of my beautiful life,
away from a true home.
I’m, I’m still alone.
I’m still typing more by thumbs than I am flipping through parchment,
leafing through awe inspiring blends
of things I’ve penned, storied or drawn
between the hours of just around dawn
as I yawn
in a two story apartment.
I am a stone never discovered.
I am alone still searching for the old love I so readily smothered
with poems I had not wrote on the screen
of a telephone
that I cannot recover.
I’m, I’m still alone.
I am still denied entrance to the houses of fashion,
I am still declined mention from the mouths of the passionate
and current,
I am burdened by what once so burned my flame.
My spirit has not its name.
Not spanish or otherwise.
I am alone.
I, I am alone.
My basketcase butterflies,
flutter at every social circle I talk in.
Walking,
I’m awkward as Urkel
but Hawkin from the crown down.
And too often my chin-up cannot lower the bar.
I lack the harshness of narcissists,
strolling and laughing,
nose raised in a daze with throat open for slashing.
I do not ask for pity.
But here in my city,
I am not home.
I’m, I’m still alone.
And so I dream of the most romantic scenes
from an excerpt somewhere that gestures between
Titanic and tantric, and notes of hope.
And love letters.
And someone to boast my claim.
Maybe someone alone.
Yes.
Yes, someone the same.
My gosh.
Why, I’m still alone.
My thoughts and mind make labrynth laps.
Weathered, they hunt treasures
while scattering maps and flattering no one but X’s
who may have never marked my spot;
scalding my pot with food for my clamouring thoughts
and moods that would only teach me to be down for them.
Down and
down again.
Oh, I’m still alone.
I’m still a thoughtful skill
killed by a bottle,
pills and a throttle
that no longer chooses to break.
I’m a storied Eeyore
who’s lost his tales.
Off shore in a lake, oreless, at a loss for sales
and wind to blow me back to a safely lit dock.
I’m a flavorless, ticked talk away from a swung clock
from my neck
and a viking hat.
Love struck,
although striking back only leaves me with nothing but a tired arm,
a heart like a fire bomb
that smokes to the tone of a home alarm so high
its impossible to silence.
I am trapped in my lessons of vengeance and violence
from being strapped by the weapons and methods of guidance
by my father figure.
I have turned a goner.
I am somber.
I,
once sun,
can shine no longer.
I’m, I’m so alone.
I’m so dethrowned.
I’m still a clown.
I’m so enthralled by the loss I have found
that I embrace her like she has raised me more than
she has shown me to fall.
Still a grain of me braves the scenery of a slave
so dissolved that he is not so much washed
as he is a stain to the bath.
I am,
I am an undesired punk in a decided slump
who in a loss of poise
still quite enjoys
getting a rise out of driving drunk.
When I am alone.
I’m, I’m still alone.
I’m still in search.
For what, I’m unsure,
but it involves some of this,
a little that,
riddles resolved,
and a beautiful perch
that I can sit and see old friends from.
I am so backwards off red rum, it kills me.
I am too sensitive.
I am too silly.
I am no attention
span of a man.
I am not rich, though I am so philthy
that froggishly I pray
for a princess to kiss me.
I am…
someone…
you can’t understand.
I’m, I’m still alone.
I’m still alone.
God help me..
I’m still alone.
In love with a ghost.
Accompanied by a spirit.
Embraced by a voice
yet nobody hears it.
I am still.
And in this stillness,
I’m, I’m so alone.
I’m so alone.

I’m creating again like my life is fading.. again.
Love&Above..
bryan.