A long ass poem

-not sure it makes sence to anyone but me-

I found myself at the edge of a cliff, but not the same kind
of situation that so many others find themselves in.
You know, where they want to jump...
No. I found myself in the expertly hand-woven
rope holding together the hundreds of planks of wood
that formed a bridge that once carried people safely
across to the other side...
once...
Except now, my years are as numerous as my planks
and not all of them are as trustworthy as the others...
Too many people have walked over me, and held onto me
for stability to the point where I'm not sure I've much left
to offer.
I wouldn't tread on me.

No. That's not right. That's not what I think I want to say...

I found myself in a magazine, but not the
same kind of magazine you would read while
waiting to get your hair cut; staring at all of the
perfect plastic people giving you tips on how you can
maybe, possibly, one day, with a lot of work, money,
and PLASTIC surgery look like them.
No. I found myself in a magazine fully-loaded with government
issued ammunition. One of many, with
one in the chamber, all with uncertain destinies, but
all destined to make a special place for ourselves in someone else's
heart.
Or head, or arm, or hand, or whatever other appendage/vital organ happens to get in our way.
Except I'm the one the never goes off.
Sure, the pin hits in just the right spot, but there's no charge; no motivation I guess.
Only a dimple in my casing; a scar so to speak.
I'm stagnant. But don't pull the trigger again or...

Damn it, still not right...

I found myself in a corner store, but not the place where couples
rendezvous and sip coffee or tea and share each other's company.
No. I found myself in the type of place where
couples/lovers/fuck-buddies go to plan far more
devious and depraved acts. I found myself in the box
of a combination dildo/pocketpussy. I was intended
to be "fun for everyone" and lord knows I try, but
what about the transvestites, transsexuals, or
better yet, the asexuals who desire more, less,
or none at all?
How can I measure up, down, or disappear?
I guess they just don't have to buy me.
But then what about me? What's my purpose?

I guess what I'm really trying to say is that a part of me
can be found in all of these places as well as a million more.
And no matter how sure I am of myself; no matter how hard I try,
I can't please everyone all the time, and I'll never be able
to explain myself to anyone...
Especially not you.