I’m ready for a break 
a really, really, long break. 

Away from home,
away from the daily,
away from the stresses,
away, away, away, and away,

If only we could change our 
struggles we have to come back to. 

Venture out
but not too far. 

Wish on a star
already know who 
exactly that we are. 

Maybe it’s time 
  To buy that ticket? 
     It’s a dream
        A shot in the dark
      A slight chance 
But we’ve got nothing 
Left to lose. 

. . . and even when they kill
[murder] [slaughter] them,
those with bloody hands
are still
the ones most afraid.

In my non poet era
I sit quiet 
On my new stoop
In my new city 
And watch the neighbor girls
Catch fireflies 
In their nightgowns 
Giddy 
Silly
Running in bare feet 
Freshly washed hair

I see the poetry 
 
I remember the feel
Of the wet evening grass
The strawberry scent
Of my favorite shampoo
The free sweet
Uncomplicated evenings
Running and chasing
The magical sparks of light
As they danced across
The summer sky

My youth was poetry

Eight minutes of battery
And I’ve finished so little,
Fifty-five minutes of the day remaining,
And if I had made a list,
There would likely be as many items on it

I have written no poem today,
Completed no research

Four minutes now

I have only quested
Through quests I’ve finished twice before,
Checking objectives from a list,
        But not my own-
        Not the one I didn’t bother to make

The charger…it’s the wrong one
They all look so similar

My dog gets lost in the grass,
Only her leash, snaking through the stalks,
Gives her away

The neighbor doesn’t talk to me anymore
And I can’t say that I mind

His lawn is low, his standards are high

This charger looks right

I almost exercised
But my ankle hurt
So I microwaved Chinese food instead

And I fear, above all else,
Tomorrow

That same dog will praise me awake,
        And I will wish to quest yet again
        But instead, I shall make a list

Or not.

The words knock loudly at my brain

Where do we hide when
our monsters outgrow darkness
and lurk in the light?

looking for anything but an axe to grind

my parents told me I wasn’t enough
and I’m just supposed to magically believe something different now.
they were unreliable narrators the whole time.
I have to learn to trust my own perspective

give us your bucks
gotta ante up 

so we can pay
more cops 
to play
candy crush

Your invisible hands snake around my throat,
And I begin to choke on words left unspoken.
They’re still there, tingling burning the end of my tongue.

You know the moment my words slither out
Is the moment it’s over.