Piled
up, this weight in
The back of my
Mind
Presses on nerves
Much less active
Otherwise.
Posts published in “Poems”
All that follows is
A child’s dream of flying
Against gravity’s best wishes,
And chest-crunching laughter.
Following my feet,
In walking along
Edge of forest
Left to be
Overgrown with
The memories
Of a life lived
Longing for
Anything but
My own, the
Last look at you
Holds pace,
Giving me
Companion
When I walk
Alone along
Pavement’s
Cracked edges,
Overgrown with
Memories of a
Life you lived
Without knowing
It would end.
i take a minute to think
about my future, and who i’ll be.
only takes a second, and i’m writing you
to tell you where i am right now
as opposed to who i’ll be.
waiting for you,
i built a
lot of
bad habits, but
now you’re here and
i can’t think about
all of that;
no, i’ve got you
and all you do
is condition me
to be better than
i am;
a slight crystal
fills a void in
your tulip jewel;
i bought you
the brightest band
i could find, so
you need not worry
about falsities,
just the clarity of
your tulip jewel.
just because i sit here,
wandering my mind when i talk to you,
holding on to everything i can’t fit my arms around,
shuffling back and forth in this
old man sweater you hate but love
because you know now that’s who i am,
who i’ve been since i was 10 and you
hadn’t met me yet to change my mind
just that little bit into the better
man i am now that i have you to tell me
what i can’t see, but know enough to listen.
i followed my heart when my hands tried to tell me
the only position through is huddled by
a screen, lit with others lost in translating;
but, i followed my heart when you came calling
and acted out all the ways i never knew but
always saw how i should be when you’re standing
in front and i’m beside: a shift, a question,
a kiss, and we were on our way to being who
time’s told us we were always s’posed to be.
Seeing work not finished, just collected
And my motor skills reluctantly continue
Scrolling through words as memories,
Parking and driving and sitting and laying
And talking and working and being a being.
And memories, they keep coming when that’s all you have
Or all you care about– so easily picked, harder to remember what led to them being your
Memories.
I can move mountains with my mind, but my eyes will only watch and my hands only dig; my lips will only move, my mouth will only dry. A peculiar situation when reality puts you in a place you’d been before but hoped was only a dream best kept sleeping.
I laugh out loud when I think of days, but blank my stare when hanging on to thoughts of nights and all their ramblings.
Just poked fun at myself
Tried to land a soft punch
But didn’t pull back at all
Meant to hold a thought
Forgot to let it go to begin with
And that’s where this story ends.
and, adrift in climb of silence’s stairs,
we hold our eyes along route of that fleeting glimpse of God’s first gift, light in darkest days.
You should always say what is worth saying before committing it to memory. The phrase, “committing it to memory,” can imply memory is an institution. I agree with this. My mind often knows less about relevant responses, and more about fight-or-flight.