Specifically
not all,
but most,
and definitely some
more than others
You lived long, very long,
but the Dutch sickness
got you finally,
and you were felled.
I’m sorry about that.
We had no choice in the matter.
The city made us.
I just want you
to know
that we miss you
very,
very
much.
Coworker,
I drive her most of
the way home.
I’m not the problem.
I could be, potential,
a threat to safety.
How far to go
before someone trusts me?
Doesn’t matter.
Over her shoulder,
extra lap around her home,
keys between knuckles.
I drive away
not knowing and who am I
to tell her different?
stuck in this fucking hotel room
14 floors up
with a yellow leather fainting couch
and
the bourbon on the counter’s
lookin’ good
The back and forth
patty cake
twister like game
has my insides flipped
and knotted around
one another
like the necklace you gifted me
that has itself tangled
among all of my other pieces
proving impossible to remove
and constantly tarnishing all
that crosses its path.
A pair of two birdies, perched up on a tree
with their black birdy eyes glued tight onto me.
Just play along now, finish up what you need.
But never forget, the pair of two birdies watching.
Please mind your temper, try not to see red.
Lower your voice, child, and lower your head.
I know the world’s spinning, but close your eyes, count to ten.
You must paint on a smile and keep everything in.
The birdies test my patience, but rather than cry
I just lay in the grass and allow them to fly.
You must ignore their chirping, their shrieks, and their songs,
for these two little birdies can’t quite tell right from wrong.
Such a labor of love, to raise birdies like them,
preening their wings and their hearts to better fit in,
flying by example so the birdies can learn
exactly how to handle the world at their turn.
The pair of two birdies have grown plenty since then.
Their wings almost 40, their minds forever at 10.
I have grown too, from once bubbling behind a mask,
to genuinely, gently answering whatever the birds ask.
As I now look how far, birdies and I have come,
again my eyes dampen, but this time overcome
with love and with pride over every endeavor
made to let the pair of two birdies…
stay pure and sweet little birdies forever.
I don’t have a poet’s soul
Because I can’t feel my emotions.
I live in the moment,
never
reflecting on the past,
looking towards the future,
searching my innermost thoughts,
listening to other opinions,
observing the world around me.
I forget those feelings that would set me free
And hang onto the ones that bind me up.
I also lie to myself a lot.
light these screaming bugs up in flames
sure it’ll be louder for a second,
but then i’ll have silence
maybe be able to nap a while
i’m not sure where to buy a flamethrower
let alone how to light a fire
