Picket Fences

—Poems by Scott Simmons, Houston, TX

PICKET FENCE IRONY
—Scott Simmons, Houston, TX

My old man never beat me but sometimes I wish he had.
At least then I actually would be worth the effort.

Instead he just simply reminded me how much of an idiot I was.
And he very seldom ever showed love to another person.

Neither of one us understood how to give our affection freely.

Although he did successfully teach me how to always be miserable.

Nothing was enough to be happy because he had lived a life he never wanted.
All of the scars from his childhood had never left him.

By the time I finally moved out of the house it was already far too late for me.
Because me and him are now just alike.

I suppose life is funny in that way.

THE ART OF SHOWMANSHIP

I wake up and start to hate myself just a little more every day.
And the mirror is always the last place I care to look at.

As an actor I imitate life yet haven’t actually lived it in several years.

Sure I can make others laugh or cry but I can’t feel a thing on the inside.
It only goes to show that you should never look too deeply behind the scenes.

Beyond that mysterious velvet screen there is just an endless void.

For a true performer is only ever the person you want them to be.
And not much more than that.

No matter the volume of the works I’ve made it can still never fill up an empty bed.
All I have left are all the little reminders that she’s gone.

At least I’m dead enough to finally not even care anymore.

MATTER OF FACT

I see your face in my mind almost every other night.
It seems that my love had somehow outlasted my hatred.

Sometimes I think that was a big mistake on my part.
That would have been far simpler to process than what I feel now.

Instead I feel empty and I find myself searching for an actual purpose.

Although in a strange way I’m still happy that you found another.
Because this life is a lonely place and I couldn’t ever stand to see you alone.

Deep down I know that I had fucked us up just like I had with many other things.
He can provide you with that which I could never provide you with.

You deserved better than me and I deserved far less than you.
We both know that.

You made actually me enjoy existing for awhile and that’s more than I had hoped for.
And yet I’d still take you back without a second thought for your sake.

I suppose that I’m just always a selfish Bastard at heart though.

A LIVING MAUSOLEUM

Regrets are often many but true happiness is a rarity.
So always search for joy with the determination of a mad man.

For Satisfaction is always transitory or simply brief at best.
And might last for many years or a few moments.

All significant life meanings and familiar faces will change over time.
And even you will become someone new.

You will be lost and completely alone at times.
And then later you'll be loved and cared for by someone special for awhile.

But in the end our hollow memories are the only things that will last with us.

Love all of your vices and experiences, because nothing lasts forever.

 Artwork by Scott Simmons

Today’s LittleNip:

It ain’t whatcha write, it’s the way atcha write it.

—Jack Kerouac

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Our thanks to Scott Simmons for his poetry today, and welcome to the Kitchen, Scott! Scott is a 20-year-old poet, humorist, and artist from Houston, Texas. He has been published at Duane's Poetree, The Rye Whiskey Review, Horror Sleaze Trash, and The Anti-Heroin Chic. He is also the editor of The Dope Fiend Daily and his artwork can be found at his instagram entitled deranged_texan. Thanks for joining us today, Scott, and don’t be a stranger!

Tonight in our area, Sac. Poetry Center presents Kathleen McClurg, plus a book release by Maw Shein Win (Invisible Girls), 7pm. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about these and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.

—Medusa

 Scott Simmons
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