Deathbed Confession (Stream of Consciousness Poem)

I used to fall asleep
imagining I could fly.

I’d walk to the cliff
shift my weight
my limbs became wings
and it was simple,
just gliding down
to the valley
and I’d be asleep long before
I reach the bottom,

but that trick doesn’t work
any more.

There is ever
a beat,
a rhythm
carrying on
like an acid drum loop

boom boom-shakalala
chaka-che-boo-che-leh

and I think
I must capture this
and attach my name to it -

I’m invisible
most of the day
so when I sense something
will reveal me
I wrap myself in it
and hope it will
freak out the squares
and incite the freaks
to wave their flags for me.

I want to be
the rebel outsider
who made it past the
boundaries of convention
but still is
paradoxically
loved.

Just give me
a supercomputer,
all the creative software available,
and time enough,
and I’ll create
an argument
why you should love me.

And you just might,

but now I’m going to ruin it
with the deathbed
confession:

I’m about carnality.

From the first conscious sensation
-that nagging erection what wakes me
as I muse about places he’s been-
to counting the hours until
I get to eat again,
and how should I spend my calories
because I’m fat
fat
obese and fat,
and that makes me instantly
unloveable,

I am just trying
to satiate my appetite.

So point me to
that pizza buffet
that always says
“I love you,”
to that sugar glazed anything
that coos
“lick me into submission
and swallow me whole
and let the crumbs fall
light and fun
on your lip and chin.”

The food never denies me,
food has never let me down.

I recognize it
as love in it’s purest,
most self-sacrificial form:

consumable.

(Written for #MeetingTheBar at http://dversepoets.com/ - the best poetry site in the world!)