Failed again,
For the umpteenth time.
Pretty sure
I shouldn’t be trying, but
Punishment suits me.
musings & scribbles
Give me
All you are
So I can
Give you
All I am
I broke down
Listening to those
Reminders
In my head
Of your voice,
Of your warmth,
Of your love,
And I’ve yet
To rebuild,
I’ve yet to rebuild.
Show me your opened eyes,
That great big smile,
The warmth of your [finger]tips
Finding their way along my scalp.
“At least
At least they’re even,”
She says, looking
At eyes closing for
Lack of will to be open.
“Maybe
Maybe he’s just tired,”
She says, looking
For a reason to
Keep from being worried.
“He’s
He’s not crying,”
She says, looking
To convince her
To ignore intuition,
To bury the canary,
To give up concern
And replace it
With ignorance.
Memory,
My old friend,
Hiding on the shelves
Of my mind, burning without
Smoke or flame the pages of
This life we’ve written.
Edited by omission,
My volumes are slimmer
Than their binding, bound to
Give me reason to wonder;
What’s been missing, what
Haven’t I read, which way
Should my lips curl, should my eyes
Stay still or float away?
Memory,
My old friend,
You’ve kept me
Sane all these years,
Plucking out the rotten,
But giving me just enough
To make me feel full.
Only after, years after,
I realized chunks
Were missing and I bother you
To give them back, but
You’ve thrown them away,
Giving me just enough
Space to know they might have ripened once,
But not to know they decayed.
I read a class assignment I had worked on when I was ~9. The ask was to have the class write their favorite Christmas memory. I wrote that I wanted a bike at my Dad’s, like I had at my Mom’s, and that I heard a noise on Christmas Eve, only to awake to find a bike under the tree. I do not remember any of that assignment, that night, or that morning. I don’t remember a lot of my time at my Dad’s. I used my memory as a means to erase the anger and frustration I felt toward him, toward being stretched between two households. I don’t remember much, and find it easier to not retain than to try and recall it all. I’m hoping having a child will kick-start my memory, and give Candi and I a reason to slow down enough to enjoy the ride of life.
Memory,
You old devil,
Opening only when
I pull you so.
History is what makes us
Who we are, allows us
To be who we want to be by
Giving breadcrumbs, giving something
To search for ourselves by;
We’ve got
Over half our lives to live
I’m really glad
You’re who I get to spend mine with
We
Exist to
Solve
How to
Be.
I don’t
Mind the cold,
Tight skin
And flinchin’ bones;
Just
Have to
Wind my
Body, loosen
The nerves.
Love,
Like a smile,
Or a blue-sky day
With cotton clouds,
Is instantly shareable,
Giving warmth both
To the participants
And the observers.