I woke up in the afternoon and took a shower.
After a quick trip to town for a pack of smokes and sinus pills,
I spent some time cleaning my apartment.
I did the dishes, swept my old floors, tossed some things in the trash, and straightened up my room.
My boyfriend had some friends come over and we smoked a few bowls,
and while they continued laughing in the living room I snuck off to watch the British version of house hunters.
Then I began to get ready for work.
Putting my hair up, mascara, jeans and an old t-shirt.
And now it's 4:13 a.m and I'm listening to Ed Sheeran as I clean some more, while day dreaming of my bed.
The environment is polluted
with tension and negativity
I can never escape.
I want nothing more than to heal it
one hundred percent of the way,
but I am not capable.
I become a bystander,
witnessing and not helping.
My biggest regrets in life
are when I choose to do nothing.
Takes over spaces
in the back of my mind.
It pains me
like you would never believe.
The radiant blossoms of spring,
Bursting from the frozen stagnant soil.
The snow blocking the plant's freedom.
An icy barrier telling the sprout it should wait to grow,
Halting its inevitable growth.
What is the snow for man?
What is our barrier from springtime sunlight?
Is it the establishments we toil away at?
The haze of winter,
Seems to never end now,
In our modern world.
It's when you wait
To do the things
You truly hate.
WORK CAN'T WAIT
Your conscious yells.
Instead you ponder
'bout cow bells.
Cuz if we need
Bells for our cows,
Why not small kids
Who wander 'round?
Kids that're smelly,
have round bellies
and seem to always
be cryin' and yelling?
At this point
You look to the fan
And see a fat fly
You wonder when it's gunna die
But your lazy cat,
Who has lazily sat
On the laziest looking mat,
Jumps like a boss
and with a paw toss
Swipes that fly
Into your left eye.
Right after the hit,
WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS?
Now as you're half blind
A series of thoughts
Pop into your mind.
What if you die...?
All because of the fly?
What if it landed
In some poop?
What if that poop...
Is now in you?
You could get malaria...
Get lost in hysteria...
Nothing seems clear
Will you now never know
If Justin Bieber's queer?
Is when you wait
To do the things
You truly hate
But if you take
Too long to start
Karma bites you
In the arse.
AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER!
After a hard day at work
You come home to love
That God has given to you
For it came from above
Your family hugging
Your wife kissing, too
You see that your children
Really care about you
Through all of your troubles
Just to get to the airport
You come home to the unexpected...
Love, care, and support!
A father figure...
...once told me:
"You lose energy once you hit your thirties."
However.... he is no longer such a figure to me.
Looking back... -- & almost being there now --
I believe the only thing he ever lost was ..motivation, not energy.
In the end, perhaps that is why ....I was running his.... company.
I’m ready for the sun
Though I love the snow
The cold lit the fire beside us
The warmth melted it long ago
Bad mistakes I’ve made make that kind of sense
If you are open to something different
You will ignore everything I’ve said
Can you believe like I do in you
I am not in love anymore
I just don’t have anything else to talk about
The first word you speak will erase the past
I’m tired of pretending
What is there to admire
They don’t think about mending
Instead it’s how they aspire
I hope my next mistake is not about ten more cents
There’s not enough time to talk
Sleep and work take turns living your life
But I’ve learned once again what I’m about
And it’s not to tell you someone to work harder
I hope you can be all that you dream
While I remind myself a sail is always tied to a mast
This machine at work
hisses, pops, and splatter-spits
it is not supposed to
it’s supposed to dispense glue
in a thin string
around the perimeter of the plastic part
but several times a day it does this:
Disengages my autopilot
snaps me out of my waking coma
makes me swap the glue tube
recalibrate the path, press the button once
twice - wait for the beep -
and thrice for good measure
Then back to the scheduled programming
waiting, watching, writing poems
on the side of my skull
like abstract cave paintings
picking dried glue off of the bad parts of yesterday
I am seven again
making spiderwebs in empty pencil boxes
a forth of Elmer’s
creatively drizzled in the quirky shapes
set inside my cubby hole overnight
I made the best spiderwebs
I was delicate when lifting
the secrets from their chamber
careful not to break the narrow connections
that hold it all together
but quick too,
so that nobody sees it
I didn’t want a teacher to seize it
or the other kids to laugh at me
for having a weird hobby
although, in retrospect, it’s not the oddest thing
I’ve been known for doing -
Shit, what’s wrong with you now?
I’m on my lunch break
sifting through pictures on social media
finding one posted by my sister
of me at age two
doing that thing I do
with my hands
Left thumb pressed into right palm
I do it frequently,
whenever I am excited, or nervous,
or in an argument, or in line for a comic book movie,
or meticulously analyzing song lyrics
I’m a dweeb, don’t I know it?
although, it took me too long to own it
They say that every seven years
you’re a new man
every skin cell, shed
every blood cell – dead
They say the only thing
connecting me to the kid in this image
is a fiction that I tell myself
over and over again
Maybe, that’s true
maybe the only thing holding me
to my past is a thin string of glue
yester-me might’ve found that thought revitalizing
now-me finds it terrifying
What if car accident stole my memories?
Will what I’d become still qualify as me?
Will I still do that thing with my hands?
Will I still fondly pick at dried glue?
Will I still write the way I’ve always written,
without that thin string of experiences behind me
that I’ve learned to call my life?
That’s assuming I will have the itch,
the urge, to write at all –
Shit, what’s wrong with you now?
I have never been employed or earned any money for the work I do. And yet I still have a job to do.
For I am the door keeper, a guard, a lookout... a friend.
My job is simple yet complicated, for I have many jobs rolled into one.
I stand by the door and wait for people to approach me. Some talk to me, most people don't. Don't you know that I do my work for you? I don't get paid for my work, but I still think it's worth it to keep working.
I am the door keeper.
I stand by the weak, injured, and the broken with the strength I still have. When the people who I help finally regain their strength, they walk away from me, not even leaving a "thank you".
I am the guard.
When danger arrives at someone else's doorstep, I am there to see that they are not harmed, I will warn the of danger and guide them out of harms way.
I am the lookout.
Whenever you need me I will be there, I'll hold your hand and help in any way I can. I will always be here.
I am your friend.
I have always been here, but people don't see me anymore. I have become a ghost. I wonder what it takes to become alive again. But I can't just leave, whether or not people see me. I need to keep working. My job doesn't cost money, it costs lives.
A treasure more valuable than money.
I can't stop working.
I am the door keeper watching for their smiling faces. I am the lookout for their lives, and the guard of their hearts. But most importantly a friend.
A friend they might never see, but I'm still here.
I can't leave just yet. Because I still have a job to do.