(Because I can’t think of a better word)
I voice my heartache.
It was hard to see you kiss her
I watched from the other side of that glass
and the art building never felt so cold…
She even met your grandparents
after that choir concert
I dropped out of.
I wasn’t actually jealous,
I just felt depersonified,
like I was never anything
from the very beginning.
Never even a friend…
just a thing with a hole which you penetrated
again, and again
until it bled.
Truth is that I feel lightheaded, and
perhaps these are the last days
I will live, so why not admit these things
to the world, so you can admit your flaws
as I have?
You are allowed to resent me for this because
someone has to tell you that
this is how you treat those who
actually love you,
and wish they didn’t.
Many butterflies create a storm.
A hundred million times
between my life
and sense of death.
I wish for it
yet have no reason.
I am, in wandering, a hobo–
lost within my thoughts
gazing through my dreams
seeing the lack of argument
that separated me so well.
Where is the pass…?
What energy can I really give
to make this place any more
unstable? I want to escape,
yet have no reason to go.
I’m stable here, and cannot
see any point of breaking
my promise to let go even though
I’m bound to you with a heart
unable to be remolded.
Sat upon a dentist’s chair
and he didn’t like the smell.
It wasn’t anything specific
…I’m sure he couldn’t tell.
All the way through the office
a waft went strong and fast,
and even so when my shoes came off.
All the nurses were aghast.
Switch box candle. Hearts, and minds. Souls, entwined. Recounting those rows of summer days, where children played. No judgments made. A kitten purrs, and the enlightened murmurs of a woman’s thoughts, while her nose was pressed against your cheek. Little else is relevant in the dance of time, except perhaps your life being lived without regret.
Lest you forget, then all words are lost, and beauty left.
An elderly man reaches out to his…
his call button. As he presses it,
he hears a baby cry down the hall.
A woman enters.
He imagines she is his daughter.
She asks him what he needs,
and he begins to cry, while
saying he’s sorry.
He’s sorry for never being there
for never having time.
He’s sorry for not giving a damn
and for using others for
his own selfish needs.
He’s sorry for his
money, and his business.
He’s sorry for being
cruel, and for leaving his
wife for a younger girl.
He tells the nurse this,
and with his last breath
apologizes that she was
never even a twinkle in his eye
because he had never seen
the possibility of something
as meaningful as love.
Because I can’t think of real words
(and the poem was meant to continue
but my hands accidentally published it
anyway, which I guess makes it official)
I was left to be rightfully cast down
into the depths of this heavenly,
chaotic arm of the Milky Way.
Here, you’ve run into your sister
planet to make Luna, and all life
beneath her light magnificent,
yet still cannot figure out how to
make a godly cup of coffee.
My heart goes out to you, humans.