Broken Parts

No longer able to persevere in an environment in which I feel agitated and frenzied before each night’s sleep.
No longer able to continue functioning in a world where I wake up shaking from the panic caused by my dreams.
Trapped by past stressors, memories that still trigger, and individuals who delivered calculated knockout blows.   
I’m far beyond exhausting my catalog of resources to get out of this muddled mess of a forged existence. 

I’m talking about you, Kimberly, Emily, and Pam. Broken parts of myself caused by you and so many others.
 
I think of the intentional, irrevocable hurt caused by each of you that has made me disoriented, meek, and feeble.
Left alone to wander this all too recognizable path in shock and disbelief of how awry this life has gone.
Having convinced myself that this cycle will continue, leaving me closer each time to the edge of no return.

I’m talking about you, Teresa, Andrea, and Jasmine. Broken parts of myself caused by you and so many others.
 
Dipping into this seedy underworld to briefly liberate myself from the worry that would otherwise intrusively control me. 
Tonight’s encounter wreaks havoc on my exhausted mind; I’m visibly full of poise but undeniably shaken within.
In her arms, I’m physically present but emotionally detached, here to satisfy tonight’s need, which I promise won’t sustain.
With my carnal instincts heightened and my decision irreversible, I reassure myself that this is reputable, that this is proper.

I’m talking about you, Julia, Noelle, and Laura. Broken parts of myself caused by you and so many others.
 
Though my body yearns for her, it’s my conscience that tells me to leave; but I am helpless to her smell, taste, and touch.
This physically flawless woman will never know my heart and owns no power to hurt me, so why not stay and explore?
Unable to resist the urge, I crawl into her bed, position my hands appropriately, and allow my lips to pierce hers.
What tingles at first quickly sends shivers down my spine, and I can forget my anger for the briefest of moments.

I’m talking about you, Stephanie, Alicia, and Erica. Broken parts of myself caused by you and so many others.
 
Hindered by competing conceptions, I uncomfortably convulse and coil, locking eyes one moment but reversing out the next.
Her delicate fingers cause the hairs on my neck to curl, triggering a different type of intimacy, one I’m ill-equipped for tonight.
I slide out of her tender touch, pinning her wrists instead, emotionally incapable of reciprocating any attempt of real affection.
With the moment about to derail, I close my eyes, muster the strength and continue with passionless aggression.

I’m talking about you, Kate, Tara, and Jennifer. Broken parts of myself caused by you and so many others.
 
Shuddering afterward, collapsing past the point of exhaustion, the wonder of how to get away immediately creeps in.
As quickly as the moment’s anticipation of ecstasy elevates me, my realities come crashing down that much more quickly.
My troubles roar back, and those briefest moments of joy and exhilaration are replaced instantly with regret and sorrow.
The senselessness of an unprocessed life quickly resurfaces; I want and need to be anywhere but where I am.

I’m talking about you, Alyssa, Morgan, and Caroline. Broken parts of myself caused by you and so many others.
 
I think of the intentional, irrevocable hurt caused by each of you that has made me confused, angry, and vindictive.
Left alone to wander this all too recognizable path in shock and disbelief of how awry this life has gone.
Having convinced myself that this cycle will continue, leaving me closer each time to the edge of no return.

When the bitterness and resentment overwhelm.

Written in 2020

Copyright, The Poetry of Bryan Buser