Nearly paralytic
wondering what they’ll pull next.
Our life is on a leaf in the air,
falling from a branch,
with no way of telling which way
the wind will move.
But I lie calmly,
anticipating the next landing,
the next 24. 48.
72 hours.
We are all the same,
no matter where the sky blooms.
Crayons create the same drawings,
no matter the restaurant.
Clothes still keep us warm,
no matter the store.
We all arrived from the same atom,
the structure of which will never break.
Food is still the same,
no matter the price.
A long walk is still the same,
no matter the shoes.
Forgive this state.
It’s unfamiliar.
Help me find
how it used to be.
But familiar enough,
vulnerability awakes.
Unable to take down,
it has taken me.
Forgive this state.
It’s tired and blocked in.
I’m fighting myself,
losing every day.
Hope Moon can help.
This darkness needs light.
Hope the hated Sun
never lights my path.
I miss the kid.
He hides behind
a scruffy face,
his eyes still bright.
I see a man
waiting too long.
He settles for less
as he stares.
A breaking point
comes into focus.
The man overthinks what
the kid is smart enough to do.
No need for a reminder
to remind her that her I can’t be without.
Future visions only co-exist with us.
Imaginations run wild.
Dreams lie ahead with two,
plus five or four.
Maybe three, maybe more.
Whatever we want is ours.
I am often reminded
of all that stands before us.
Loud laughter, warm nights.
Blankets to tuck in, ornaments to hang.
You are flowers waiting on the table,
hot cocoa on a cold night.
You are the reason I can’t sleep
when you aren’t by my side.
Carry with you these thoughts
as I always keep yours close to me.
I see their smiling faces in the rearview
as you sit in the passenger seat.
24 hours is almost enough
time to catch your breath,
assess the room,
grab your keys from the floor.
24 hours is enough
time to remember the route,
map out the area,
shut down the road.
24 hours is more than enough
time to stare at your reflection,
shake your head and say
“Never again.”
In this city I don’t recognize,
a prize sails through the streets
that lie underneath a lonely night.
My eyes have yet to wander
from who stares at me
with big bright eyes.
18 but it feels like 80.
Hard to rest when I’m
wishing you home.
18 but it feels like 80.
This is a first
and I hope it’s a last.
We are all the same,
seeking want over need.
A reckless desire to push
through a seemingly endless crowd
without ever a thought to look back
and pick up those we knock down.