Posts for June 10, 2024 (page 7)

miss you like crazy
a sign
as in a literal, stakes in the ground, sign
and I’m curious
who misses who and what’s the situation
doubtful I’ll ever know the real story

I remember asking if you missed me
you assured me you did
were you simply being nice because who does that
when such an inquiry is made
did you miss me yesterday and today and all the days
or are you rolling right along, carefree and comfortable
who’s to say and doubtful I’ll ever know
the real story

*side note: my friend Linda and I were riding along yesterday and saw the actual “miss you like crazy” sign and she challenged both of us to write a poem about it…so here it is

I’m a terrible father.  

When I drop you off at your mother’s house, 

I’m a failure.  

The frustration zooms out from my mouth, 
you’re not responsible for the verbal slips lopping off my lips. 

Passing on aggression  
Pardon me—wrong word. 
Passing on a legacy of inadequacy: 

As man. 
As dad.  
As human.

Truth be told— 
I simply want to cry to prove to you that I truly am bold. 

I cannot decide
which picture to use on here:
a joke or facade.

Chorus : 

Just tryna find 
some way
to connect 
Aint got time
to wait 
with baited breath 
Just tryna get by 
one day 
to the next 
One day 
to the
next

(x2) 

Verse:

Aint got time 
To be afraid 
To make a mess 
That’s what it might take 
So take it as a lesson 
Say it’s gon be okay 
Even though you left us 
From this low place 
I cant let it go to waste 
Treat myself like a throwaway 
Still remember what you said 
When I’ve got no space  
From my head 
Im an artist baby 
Gotta create till im dead  
Sometimes just gotta laugh at myself 
Won’t let you use it against me 
So I aint asking for help 
better off smackin myself 
How I get stage fright 
I was cast as myself 
Can’t put my passion
on the shelf 
Smokin devil cabbage 
Ashin in hell 
They monopolized everything 
Cant afford to stay at the hotel 
Fightin for my life 
Got saved by the bell 
Weavin time’s needle 
in the spoon the brain melt 
These new hit songs like white people 
They don’t age well 

Chorus:

Just tryna find 
some way
to connect
Aint got time
to wait
with baited breath
Just tryna get by
one day
to the next
One day 
to the
next

I stepped into dead silence
And stepped in it again
and …

again

Wanted to wiggle out
Definitely squirmed a bit
Told myself

Stop squirming

Be still
Be silent
Be uncomfortable 

This shoe might still fit
At the very least
we’ll have a bit of a sit

My knees were hurting from the long walk

So I stopped to browse the yard sale

The old bike was hidden behind a dresser

Worn and dirty, the color of kale on a bad day

I paid the woman the $5

She apologized for the bike’s plainness

I apologized for mine

She smiled unsure how to take my response

Streamers now grey and faded

One speed our only speed

Seat big and lumpy

Tires a bit flabby

I hadn’t ridden a bike in decades

I gave the rusty bell a jangle

Just to let the world know

I was coming through

walk in
to forests deep
welcoming me, my dogs–
soft breezes, rich colors, callings–
delights

My ex-therapist told me to label my moods
on a color wheel of thick wedges and tinier slivers,
to shade them accordingly every day,
then add them to my bullet journal in FuN! shapes
like an old-fashioned bubblegum machine 
with a moody ball of gum per day of the month.

I didn’t know how to put it into words at the time,
so I just stopped journaling and started lapsing 
a few days, then weeks between chat sessions.
I always did my homework in grade school
but adult homework is called shadow work
and can’t be pinned down to coloring
assorted gumballs in a fat, blank book 
when I needed each daily page to reflect me
like a shimmering murky oil spill,
all the colors swimming around in a puddle,
already-chewed gum pasted haphazardly
underneath that damn desk where I sat
to do my shadow work by moonlight
and none of it made a shade of sense.  

Your hands on me
awaken my bed of chi
circumvent all rationality.

Energies anesthetize malignence
potent amber eyes baptize soul
as two become one, then something more.

Your smiling eyes disintegrate time itself
I am yours as you are mine
anxieties melt or mold in presence.

Shoulders shrug in a courtsy
bow to my will bowing in yours—
alas always unbroken.

For a yogic student to achieve Samadhi
they may face a disciplined decade or two or more,
but I am no yogi
and how I levitate 
with you as my floor.

Just when you think people are nice again, they log back into Facebook.

#AmericanSentence