Lefty

An ass-hole plays his music too loud,

as I try to write a poem out with my left hand

(This particular poem in fact)

I am very annoyed with this man

and his music.

Doesn’t he know how painfully slow and aggravating this process is!??

(As I am naturally right-handed)

His music goes on

and on.

I feel five years old again,

trying to write with ol Lefty.

When I was thirteen

I masterbated for the first time,

with Lefty.

I couldn’t tell you why,

just that it felt good

and that it felt natural.

16 years into the future

and I am still jerking off with Lefty

The right never felt smooth

The right never felt natural

The right was like a slow and bumpy ride,

that never took me to where I wanted to go.

That same slow and bumpy feeling

from trying to masterbate with the right,

is currently being felt,

as I try to write with the left.

So please forgive me if there are no pleasurable endings to this one…

It has taken me 20 minutes to write this much so far

A painful 20 minutes

but still,

I stick with it

For no reason at all

except

to see how far I’ll go.

The temptation to switch to the right

is almost unbearable.

I catch myself reaching to take the pen away from Lefty

out of impulse.

I look up and see

a blonde that looks like

her.

It’s funny how every blonde,

dressed in black,

looks like her now.

The five year old me,

who hated kindergarten,

is awake in me,

as I write these words.

He hated tracing all the letters

He could never stay on the line.

The thirteen year old me,

who was jerking-off nonstop,

is awake with me as I write these words.

(Although I am not currently masterbating)

And the blonde in the black is with me too.

The blonde that looks like her,

gets up,

and leaves.

The strangest feels sweeps over me,

an old familiar feeling,

something like,

symbolic deja vu,

and in more than one way,

all at once.

It’s time to stop this madness

of writing with my non-dominant hand!

It’s torture!

It’s a slow death!

It’s mastebating with your right hand!

It’s giving yourself blue balls!

I must give myself a break

and walk around in the sun

Searching for something

Searching for someone

but I am not sure of what or whom I am searching for

only that there is something missing

and I must go find it…

-C.H.