Posts for June 26, 2021 (page 4)

Sitting in this metal
padded seat
people swim past,
dragging cases on wheels:
dirty
t-shirt’s, used sample
toothpaste bottles, fresh
crisp cash,
and tiny trinkets
destined to set up camp
in the trash.
Children with iPads
plus adults with weighted blankets
—and overpriced liquor—
wait to be tossed
around a miniature cabin
like a freshly made salad
and arrive to their destination,
hoping the tiny stroller passenger
parked two aisles down
stays asleep
for the next 3 hours.

Perused the bookstore
Found a guide on “finding your inner voice”
Maybe this is it

Borrowed an Enneagram book from a friend
Glad I didn’t buy it, that would be a very Type 4 thing to do
I feel confident about this being it

Started to put myself out there more
Going out for drinks and swipe, swipe, swiping
Friends and family are convinced this is it

Threw some resumes around town
All those books and drinks aren’t paying for themselves
Even if this isn’t it, it’s a start

Who will win the battle
this summer?

Tomatoes or cut worms?
Hostas or beetles?
Roses or aphids?

It’s always a surprise.

From my room
i can see my room
and 
from that room
i can see my first room
the first room in which
i stop and the second room 
to which I go

In between the sun sets.

Wind and wander.
Dusty grit.
Dizzying significance of ancient cliffs:
Rock and brush placed by hands unseen at earths creation.
All they have witnessed vanishes with our breaths.

Immersed,
My own breath lifts me.
Quieting my mind, my heart murmurs through underwater ears.
And I float.

^{Let us consider life} 

^{as a series of poems} 

^{that sometimes rhyme}

^{and sometimes doesn’t. But} 

^{you can only see the shadow ahead,}

^{and no further.  O, you think,} 

^{my calendar is full next month.}

^{That is only a prediction, not a fact.} 

^{The bird flies. The kindling makes fire.}

^{The limestone rock explodes when the kindling}

^{on top heats. These are facts. Things you can see}

^{in the here and now. Birds will fly, kindling} 

^{will make fire, the limestone may burst—}

^{predictions. Shadows. And perhaps} 

^{you lean into shadows, lean into what}

^{may happen. We all do. Life pushes to the forefront}

^{the now of cells and the clues of shadows.} 

^{Reinventing itself every breath.} 

i have run out of safe spaces

safe people

and safe things

at home my mother sets a timer for me to scream and cry

she stares

and promptly slaps me if i wince a second after the timer goes off

i need more than one minute to cry

at school

it is embarrassing

and eyes slowly turn to swells of pity

and i overwhelm

and i still cry

i think i’m getting sick from holding it back

my nose is more stuffy than usual

the counselor is condescending

and she lies to me

but telling me to have hope is worse

it feels morally wrong

at dance i always fall

and it is noticeable on the walls

my blood splattered under invisible ink

and those eyes

they always come back

and to my friends i have lied

i have never been ok

but i do not care for explanation

especially not one from me

Half rotten, I wait a little aways,

He’s only a forklift driver?
she asks
without ever having met me,
without taking time to know
the traumas that have cut me down.

You’re not living up to your potential,
he says
as if I sit on my ass all day,
as if failure isn’t a thing
that can happen to anyone.

You are so much more talented,
they say,
never considering how often
talent loses rock-paper-scissors
with the wickedness of people.

You have to do better.
One day
I’ll let you know
just how much that fucking hurt me,
you, who could have been such a dear friend.

It’s a waste of all your gifts,
they say
as if there couldn’t ever be
a purpose to learning the wisdoms
only found in a low life.

You know, I’m sorry
that I’m not anything
any of you want me to be
because it’s not for a lack of effort.
People just fall through cracks.

People take advantage of other people.
People cut other people down
and I have often been the victim,
a burden that has crushed me,
that has made it hard to stand,

but also a burden that has shown me
how to draw light from the world surrounding,
the importance of loving fellow man
and the strength such love affords me
to get through a life so challenging.

So why don’t all of you stop worrying
about what I do for a living
and recognize how I struggle just to live?
Maybe when you all stop adding to the burden,
we can finally start moving forward.

I don’t always want to stay here.
I someday want to fly.
There’s just a long road ahead of me
that is so easy to get lost on
when I’m left to walk it alone.

If I’m honest,
my mind’s willed out more than a few
bad narratives, poems, ideas,
my hands’ve written down more than a few
bad descriptions, sentences, turns of phrase.

If I’m honest,
I’ve stared at more than a few
of those bad works and pieces
with the wish to forget, erase them,
with solemn exasperation, regret.

If I’m honest,
more than a few
of the bad have helped me
through confusion, exhaustion, sorrow,
comprehend what could work better.

If I’m honest,
how could I lament
any word when every word
has freed me to pen the next?