my tiny heartbeat feet do a jig
The humid summer air smothered
Like a wet wool blanket
I walked past the bar
And the cloyingly sweet stench
Of barley and hops
Filled my nose in full assault
I hate beer
Memories heavy as air
Assault my senses
Gulping strawberry Boone’s Farm
Chasing the occasional swig
From the Kessler bottle
Pulled from the pocket
Of Joe’s faded Wranglers
The good ol’ boys
Who barely graduated high school
And were on a first name basis
With the bootlegger two hollers over
Chugging can after can
Laughter replaced by crooked punches
And scuffling about in the dirt
The wanna be frat boy
Nearly old enough to be my daddy
With his big flex
That his license was reinstated last week
Attached to the neighbor girl
Who already had too much
But doesn’t know it yet
Joe taking it all in
As he tosses another empty can
I force down the vomit
Gathering in the back of my throat
When he plunges his tongue in my mouth
Before I can push him away
I hate beer
I’m trying
not to lose the momentum,
the impetus,
the drive and determination
to write 30 poems this month.
Already I’m counting the days I’ve missed,
castigating myself for skipping
even though I was
traveling,
tired,
uninspired.
Can I find my groove
and grind out 7 more?
I’ll be back here tomorrow night,
trying to find some words
that will make a poem
if I fit them together right.
They come in packs of 100,
yet I’ve never used more than 6
at a time, maybe 12, 15 to be safe.
Okay, just give me 25.
If we shared the other 75,
we’d never have to manufacture them again.
If the world were an office drawer,
there’s more than enough to spare.
Still we house the other 75
in decorative jars and vases
just in case we need them.
I’ve never needed them.
I never wanted to be right.
I only wanted to be understood —to have someone step into my world for just a moment and see things through my eyes.
Not to argue.
Not to defend.
But to listen. To feel. To try.
Because sometimes, the deepest pain isn’t in being wrong—it’s in being unheard. In having your truth brushed aside like it doesn’t matter. Like your heart is speaking in a language no one wants to learn.
And still—I speak.
Not to win.
But to be seen.
To be heard.
To be held with care, even in conversation.
So if you ever truly want to love me—don’t chase who’s right.
Just walk with me through how I feel.
Because understanding speaks louder than winning.
And empathy matters more than being correct.
You remember learning to bleed politely in youth,
clean up before the janitor notices, never be gone
for too long idling in restrooms, refuse to waste towels
or the nurse’s time. So when it happened in private,
in the dark bathroom at home as the world slept,
you would take off the pressure. You would let the red
rivulet down paling arms and pool into the white sink,
droplets smeared across your face, clots in your teeth.
With cold satisfaction and a tired catharsis you’d bleed
for hours, never bothering to get a rag, savoring the sick
feeling of draining empty. The splatters on the blue walls
looked like the inverse of stars. All those stars would gather
on your cheeks and wrists and beneath the curve of your chin,
and afterwards you’d crawl into the duvet shaking, disgusting.
The dried blood would flake from your body, so that by morning
you were pristine again. No one could tell any different.
It feels like everyone is moving on
And I’m stuck here
Wrapped up, suffocating
Laying in bed wondering what I’ll do today
Everyone is finding their partner
Finding their home, making new friends
And I am so exhaustingly happy for them
But dammit I just want to feel selfish for a minute
Selfish that I lose precious time with them
Selfish that I’m not making the same choices
Selfish that I know it’s not my time for that
Selfish that I feel so alone yet so alive
living for people that ain’t here
gotta live for me
or i’m just gonna stay there
livin in the memories
i’m trying to honor
friendships sink
you were my harbor
now where i harbor the pain
was never about starving for fame
or tryin to farther your name
you ain’t give a fuck
you were scarring your veins
you ain’t missin much
still gotta carve out a lane
thanks to those
who paved the roads
you uncaged your soul
can’t break my soul
like brick and stone
don’t make a home
wanted to build you up with love
you could make your own
spilling my blood
‘fore i was grown
whatever makes you feel good
genetic fabric sewn
together by addiction
we’re all thrown
into this sick world to live in
all headed to the headstone
not much different
but you were different
most people already clones
gotta go get it
off the bounce like Eddie Jones
went MIA ’cause we got somethin better
that’s Kob(e)
takin over for the 99 and the 2 triple 0
smokin on that Diesel pack
but that’s just livin in the past
i can’t let it go
maybe that’s
cause you were still here with me bro
crystallized starch flakes
melt cheese, tomatoes, peppers
baked potato bliss
