Start
Stop
Rewind
Replay
and
Begin
Again.
Begin
Again.
Stop.
Breathe.
Fuck.
What
am I doing?
Rewind.
Stop.
Start.
3
2
1
Begin
Again.
Monday, March 23, 2020
The Moments Between Us
We live
in
the moments
between
then
and now
and we laugh
with a freedom
that is
pure
and innocent.
I inhale
your
exhale
and
in those moments
we are
so alive
and drunk
on what
it means
to feel
everything
and nothing-
to feel
anything
anything
at all.
anything
at all.
Sunday, March 22, 2020
But The Voices in Your Head
You.
I am so glad
that you are here.
I was wondering when you would stumble my way
and read the words that you know are written
across your doubt-stricken heart.
But it doesn't have to be this way.
No,
No.
It never had to be this way.
I was wondering
when you would find yourself
so uncomfortably
down upon your knees
begging for someone to make sense of things.
But the voices in your head
no
they aren't going to be the ones to tell you
where to go from here.
No.
no.
But, my god, how loud they do scream!
You.
you.
I am so, so very glad that you are here.
I was wondering
when you would come to question your very motives
but since you are here
listening to my words
it had to be sooner
rather than
later.
Why did you choose this
in the first place?
Do not tell me
this is not your own fault.
Do not
lie to me.
I knew you would falter.
I knew you would stumble.
I knew
more than anything
that your character
could crumble.
But it hoped,
no,
I begged,
that it wouldn't
destroy the ones you loved.
A Cup of Coffee
I smile
Because I am
alive
and
I am
with you.
~
Words left unsaid over the morning coffee and the enlightened smirks
that sit behind their warm cups.
Like Confetti
A shattered glass
litters the floors
like confetti
the day after
the grand event.
It's just kind of sad.
I let out
an exhausted
sigh.
He was supposed to be here.
But he isn't.
Instead,
I sit beside the open window
with a heavy
anxiety
that I toss between my hands.
Nails scratching at
dried skin
as I grate the uncertainty
out of myself.
Momentary deep breaths.
He was supposed to be here.
Like confetti.
He said he would be here.
The day after the grand event.
He said.
I let out
an
exhausted
sigh.
He.
A shattered glass.
I never got to say
Momentary deep breaths.
Goodbye.
litters the floors
like confetti
the day after
the grand event.
It's just kind of sad.
I let out
an exhausted
sigh.
He was supposed to be here.
But he isn't.
Instead,
I sit beside the open window
with a heavy
anxiety
that I toss between my hands.
Nails scratching at
dried skin
as I grate the uncertainty
out of myself.
Momentary deep breaths.
He was supposed to be here.
Like confetti.
He said he would be here.
The day after the grand event.
He said.
I let out
an
exhausted
sigh.
He.
A shattered glass.
I never got to say
Momentary deep breaths.
Goodbye.
Tuesday, March 10, 2020
The Farm (incomplete)
A father
to his son
once spoke
words
that appeared
to fall
on deaf
ears.
Each day
this father
labored away
with hopes
of an
eventual
harvest.
Seasons passed
and
to no avail.
Seasons past
he reflects
now
-memories so
frail.
A father
to his son
once spoke
words
that appeared
to fall
on deaf
ears,
but that
boy-
boy,
did he try.
Each day
he labored away
with hopes
of creating
a harvest.
Seasons passed
and
the crops
each one would
fail.
Seasons past
he reflects
now
-memories
written in braille.
This father,
his heart aching
to see
his young son
grow,
persisted each day.
Sleepless nights.
Troublesome days.
This son,
his heart aching
to be
a young man,
-to know.
self-loathing of his own dismay.
Sleepless nights.
Troublesome days.
As each of them toiled
and troweled,
sifting through
the barren fruits
of their shared
labor-
uncertain of who
was failing
who.
The guilt
whispering
of failing
the other.
Their hands
burned with
broken blisters,
oozing
out the
last bits
of infected
pride.
to his son
once spoke
words
that appeared
to fall
on deaf
ears.
Each day
this father
labored away
with hopes
of an
eventual
harvest.
Seasons passed
and
to no avail.
Seasons past
he reflects
now
-memories so
frail.
A father
to his son
once spoke
words
that appeared
to fall
on deaf
ears,
but that
boy-
boy,
did he try.
Each day
he labored away
with hopes
of creating
a harvest.
Seasons passed
and
the crops
each one would
fail.
Seasons past
he reflects
now
-memories
written in braille.
This father,
his heart aching
to see
his young son
grow,
persisted each day.
Sleepless nights.
Troublesome days.
This son,
his heart aching
to be
a young man,
-to know.
self-loathing of his own dismay.
Sleepless nights.
Troublesome days.
As each of them toiled
and troweled,
sifting through
the barren fruits
of their shared
labor-
uncertain of who
was failing
who.
The guilt
whispering
of failing
the other.
Their hands
burned with
broken blisters,
oozing
out the
last bits
of infected
pride.
Saturday, February 22, 2020
Deserving the World
We think ourselves
too broken to move on
too broken
to deserve more than
the here and now.
Maybe we are right.
Maybe we are so utterly broken
and despaired
that we owe it to ourselves
and mayhap
to the world
to never leave the nexus
of our own being
again.
I don't know
much though.
To be frank,
Some days
I feel like I don't know
anything.
But I will tell you
what I think...
I think that at the end of it all
when it has all been said and done
you will get
what you deserve.
And I hope,
for your own sake,
that you deserve the world.
too broken to move on
too broken
to deserve more than
the here and now.
Maybe we are right.
Maybe we are so utterly broken
and despaired
that we owe it to ourselves
and mayhap
to the world
to never leave the nexus
of our own being
again.
I don't know
much though.
To be frank,
Some days
I feel like I don't know
anything.
But I will tell you
what I think...
I think that at the end of it all
when it has all been said and done
you will get
what you deserve.
And I hope,
for your own sake,
that you deserve the world.
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