Radioactive You Are

When you enter the room there’s a glow about you
a radiance
you’re radio active. 
 
Your eye lids must be lead
the way they always fall over the poisonous glance
that leaks from your eyes.
Tears must be heavy water.
Lead shielding averting your gaze
or maybe it’s your lies
that won’t let you look anyone in the eye.   
 
Your hands are spent nuclear rods
so hot to the touch
you burn every bridge you cross. 
 
It’s not that I’m avoiding you
you just can’t hear me through this shielded apron
and hazmat suit.
I can’t let your presence
break down the bonds
that are holding me together.
I Do Not Allow
the Destructive Natural Approach
of Domineering Narcissistic  Animals
to unravel the DNA of my character. 
 
Your mouth
a nuclear melt down
a failed Fukushima you can’t contain.
Eventually
your contamination destroys the life around you
dead fish
disfigured rumors tumors
washing up on everyone’s sure. 
 
You sway and swagger
a well constructed tower
scraping the sky
bending in the breeze
or rocking in an earthquake
while your ego is more poorly constructed Jenga tower
on a wobbly
three leg table
surrounded by drunks.
You’re fragile
your ego that is. 
 
I think
you think
you breeze into a room
a fresh laundry scented wind
but you are less a person
more tornado
flinging cows
farm equipment
and sharks.
You’re a Sharknado.  
Where you should see people
you see trailer parks
your ego a relentless wind
determined to prove we picked the wrong place to live.
 
We are bowling pins.
You are ball
so afraid you’ll wind up in the gutter
you keep knocking us down
pretending it’s just a game
you play too much. 

You think yourself                                                                                      
an unassuming buttery fly flittering on dandelions
but you be the weed
choking the life out of the garden
taking up more space than you deserve.
Who would want greener grass if we have to deal with that much of your shit?
 
Your soul is lying to you.
You are Godzilla
tap dancing in down town Tokyo
you are the bull
and SHIT!
We
are the china shop. 
 
Your ego is hard to swallow,
like poet chocking on mic.
You blot out the sun
like poet can’t see the light
of the next line. 
 
Maybe
you wouldn't be in the shadows
if you stopped
blowing out everyone's candles. 

                                                        Dedicated to who ever needs to hear it.

                                                                          ~Christopher Michael