Running out of gas

You feel the gasps,
as your body hits limits,
and only the vapors are left
to fuel you towards goals
others see as foolish.

Each step you take
comes with a shuddering rattle
as the winds others create buffet
you off that chosen course,
towards another dead-end exit.

This is my condition,
trying to rebuild a life
as others see only their needs
and move towards they goals
blocking me off again.

Each time I try,
some wreck or failure occurs
that derails the train of thoughts,
be they of my writings
or just Life plans.

Few taste the bitterness,
save a few times when
my temper nastily flares in frustration
at the roadblocks tossed across
the path I walk.

I ain't got much,
just hit the magic balance
in the bank account to start
the move to steady footing,
not enough though, yet.

Few see my plans,
just think I am dreaming,
not realizing there is a chain
of events I must force
to happen before leaping.

Then again, maybe not.
I tried last night again,
to get the small help needed
to finish a project up
and finally move on.

Only to meet obstinance,
cries of how their life
was such a chaos right now,
that help could come forth
nor others be asked.

This was the straw,
that last bit of load tossed
upon the load I am hauling
and the anger rose up
only to be blocked.

Not by those failing,
but by me, deep inside.
But the beast is about ready
to slip his leash again
and make shit happen.

Others think I coast
just as a lazy fool,
not seeing there is no power
left in me to move
forward, back, or aside.

Stuck in the road,
lacking the ability to try
to clear out of their ways,
not from laziness, or anger,
but avoiding many hazards.

Fingering the damned switch
that so oft has cursed
my life with the bloody fallout
that releasing the Anger Nitrous
tends to toss up.

Yet, I hold back,
not from lack of will,
but desire to keep on trying.
I know that rage works,
but has a price.

One I have born
all too often, very regretfully.
One that achieves goals, but costs
friends, networks, connections, and chances,
to get things done.

Tapping a fingernail gently
on that internal, mental switch,
I regret only one thing right now.
It has no metering gauge
to allow controlled rage.

Once it did, though.
Folks forget that, these days.
They used to piss me off
to see the sudden bursts
of motion it caused.

Now, they laugh, chide,
or just try making jokes,
not realizing that valve is broken
by the stress it suffered
these last few years.

You cannot block me,
then blame me for failing,
all the time having hissy fits
over my attempts to circumvent
those obstacles preventing motion.

I am thinking today.
And that might be dangerous.
After so many tries and failures
is it really worth it?
This caging of rage?