Here, on the flatlands
I was put in my place.
formed and pressed
into their neat and presumably safe little box.
It's all they knew.
It is so hard to think of them as once children themselves,
formed and pressed.
Formed from a different time, with different conformists.
There are no manuals when we are born,
you get leftover instructions from previous pipe fitters.
Agrarian raised, like grain fed beef.
Complete with the fears and habits of bygone generations.
I leave one bite of each item on my plate,
with just enough drink to wash it all down.
I have done that as long as I can remember.
I want the whole candy bar, rather than just a bite.
Pressed and formed my Father saves.
He saves twist ties from bread bags.
He saves old welcome mats, and garage door openers.
He buys in bulk, and has two deep freezers full.
Full of freezer burn, tasteless, barely nutritious,
neatly formed and pressed portions of frozen in time Salisbury steak.
It is as if he himself would like to be frozen in time.
He is a depressionite child.
In the basement there is an old dresser that he found at a yard sale.
He painted it a hideous green,
but it has a formed and pressed neat white little doily on top.
In the top drawer there are various expired drugstore items,
some dating as far back as 35 years ago.
"You never know when you might need something in there."
Expired aspirin that has broken down into powder and smells of vinegar.
Vicks Vaporub, in the pretty blue glass jar, that is dried up and orderless.
All brand new and have never been opened.
Formed and pressed neatly in their little containers.
I watch these molders of my life slowly pass away,
becoming neatly formed and packed into their aging corner of the world,
neatly formed and packed into a stereotypical old folks home.
Forgotten, in the way, slow, aching.
Soon all they will have will be memories.
Soon all they will need will be memories.
Neatly formed and packed in their aging minds.
And then, like a comet that has shuttled through space
for thousands of years, millions of years,
they will burn out and fade into dust.
And their whole lives
will be neatly formed and packed
in a trunk
in the attic,
to be opened like a time capsule,
at a later date.
the result of a week with my 94 yr old Parents
I walk the empty road of hurried days
the dark holds opportunities that the light burns through.
Nerves have been narcissistic
in that self-loathing battering
that I promised you I wouldn't commit to again.
is it different if you're a witness?
Hiding isn't part of the agenda,
if you could call irrationality an agenda.
here's to touching upon a few points in which I don't show all sides.
I'm nervous to talk to the people who make me happy
and I'm jaded to their presence,
because I'm a modern-day gatsby
with a touch of bukowski (or maybe a slam)
and all I want is for this romantic inside of me to give up on the struggle
and give in.
I want to let her form allude me because it's not important,
she just wants recognition for the fact that she has an education
and knows how to use it.
I'm just going to let my words smash onto the page, maybe edit
before a show, maybe not.
Probably go drink a beer on the local trail and stare at the back
yards of the wealthy and sharpie in an eye ball on the cement
brick on which I set my empty bottle for company, because
flowers don't get far in foam.
Nostalgia here we are again,
this time there's no search for meaning,
I know you completely and ever since we've met
you've refused to let go (somewhat of a curse, yet I love you).
If I want to let myself be free, then I have to let go of others judgement.
If maybe for a second I didn't think of what others thought about me
and I didn't think about them to occupy the empty space, then I would
truly return to the person I was before my self-esteem plummeted beneath
all that I knew to be right and wrong. Before it hurt to write my feelings
because of the fear that what I wrote wouldn't be good enough, or long enough,
no matter how many compliments came shooting through me.
"I forgot, you're bad at accepting compliments."
I don't want that to be true, I don't want to beat myself up
over the fact that someone else has great beauty simply
because I am blind of my own.
Self-love, here I come,
it'll help me live life without tangles.
stream of consciousness
thought I'd lost it, here's
something for the soul, I
appreciate all who accept
whatever it is I'm doing.
I guess one would call it:
Crime and Punishment
into the bedside cabinet
of the cheap
the greasy sink
you walked out
on the street
the Parisian air
smelling the perfume
of the restaurants
on the side walks
seeing the sights
drinking the wines
and that fish
with eyes still there
putting you off
you tried to get out
of the cheap cafe
but paid for the meal
you couldn’t eat
the fish eye
gazing up at you
and the Left Bank
and you taking in
the sights and lights
and those whores
sitting in windows
to have wrapped
but not take home
or the sexy films
went to see
in those cinemas
you just walked by
or the Eiffel Tower day
right to the top
the view splendid
the sight historical
or those rides
on the Metro
riding the wrong carriages
for the train inspector
pretending to be Aussies
giving it the yak
in your hotel room
the Russian world
of murder and deceit
and being followed
by the detective
onto the Parisian street
from the open window
of your room
gazing at street corners
that French girl
in the cafe
who served you
with bright eyes
black and white dress
and white apron
the fine long legs
and wiggling behind
recalling the old priest
who once said
too much sex
will make you blind.
It’s finally over!
You’ve climbed the mountains and trekked the canyons
Now it’s time to meet the future.
The past four yeas
Have been challenging and rough,
But we’ve chosen our careers
And high school’s not enough.
University’s on the way.
There are many more paths to tread
And more adventures to slay
We’ll be all across the world
Some here and some there
Not knowing the next place we’ll be hurled
But we’ll be well prepared.
We’ve all known each other for a while
Some longer than other
But through the years our lifestyle
Will keep up close together.
Our travels and experiences
Will unite us
Across the long distances,
Shortening the crevice.
It’s finally over!
You’ve climbed the mountains and trekked the canyons
Now it’s time to meet the future.
I always pictured this one girl
I drew her out to have this gentle twirl
She would have long brown hair
Running down her back, so fair
She would have pale white skin
One hundred and one hair pins
She would wear the prettiest yellow dress
And she would be perfect for me
But she would tease you with what you could only see
She whispered funny things in your ear
You’re the only one who could hear
While we spend these times in your car
Everything parked and night afar
She would have these lovely curls
Wearing these hidden white pearls
She was what I could only imagine
The thought of her was my one true passion
We would run around with these engaged hands
And land at the beach into these old sands
You said to me, “Stop thinking of me, silly”
I never known what she meant
Until it came to me sent
She kneeled next to me
Gave me this long lasting sad smile with her perfect green eyes
Giving me these last sighs
“You’ll be happy one day, just wait a little longer”
I never had to make such a long ponder
My yellow dress girl vanished from me
Leaving me all alone with this open sea
Those last words took a great toll
Feeling like I was falling down this hole
All my love is genuine
Just love for me is in this pen
I write all these love poems
Hundreds of words for you my dear
I never meant to be so unclear
It’s true I lost you when I needed you the most
Creating these thoughts to stay as my mind host
Distracting these retired emotions
Setting these feelings with inventive motions
Erasing that flower dancing yellow dress
I will not be your tossed away mess
I've always cared for you my sweetheart
I’m just sorry that I broke your gentle heart
This is for a girl.
Once upon a time lived a lovely, fair maid
She was young and naïve and believed in the power of love.
So, when the prince came to save her,
She thought he was her soul mate, thought it was fate,
For the slipper had fit like a glove.
But what happens when the slipper no longer fits?
When the sands of time have taken their toll,
When she is a young beauty no more?
Valleys on her face and inches on her waist,
And life has left scars on her soul.
Will her prince still be there to save her?
Is she the one he will want to kiss?
When all is said and done, will he be there fighting?
Or will he give up the ghost, say, “I guess we made the most,
But our time is up, and I’m sorry, Miss.”
How quick he is to forget her sacrifices.
All those years she patiently waited,
Trapped in her own personal tower, her cage,
Never giving up hope when she was alone, but now that she’s grown,
She can’t help but think love is overrated.
How can he break every promise he made her?
He said that there was nothing on Earth could tear them apart.
She was young, what did she know of reality?
Certainly not that forever could end, that it could just be a trend.
So, stupidly, she gave him her heart.
She thought it would be safe with him.
Now it lies in pieces on the forest floor,
How will she put it back together again?
It’s mangled and marred, it’s bruised and it’s scarred
With a grief that rocks her to her very core.
She had had a life before,
Now everything inside her felt dead.
She had been fun, innocent, she did not know pain.
And she had had dreams that he ripped at the seams
All because he didn’t mean what he said.
She can remember, bitterly, what it was to be loved.
She was once the apple of his eye,
He had made her feel like his own Aphrodite.
But now he has gone, chasing after a new, younger fawn
And all her best years have just drifted by.
Once upon a time lived a broken, sad maid,
She was wise and mature and no longer believed in love.
Once, long ago, a prince had saved her.
She thought she had found her soul mate, thought it was fate.
Now it’s just a time she’s reminiscent of.
Sitting in this yellow room of yours
Planning our great get away of bores
This sunny spring day shines on us
We are holding each other without a fuss
Practicing our secrets before we’re out
Our childhood means nothing now
We got to please leave, get out of here
Make these promised vows and run my dear
She was crazy for me
I was crazy for her
We were crazy for us to be
Hiding under the blankets of your covers
Hanging onto these cliffs of dovers
Swearing to our solemnly prayers
I’ll play with your long golden hairs
For as long as we are to be near
We’ll hold hands together, looking into this mirror
Then run away from all the unsolved problem
Was I ever supposed to know I was going to feel numb?
I’m so tired of these rests
We are just out on our lasting bests
Fantasies are just busy thoughts
Like writing down lists and dots
Just untrue marks and this ten month lie
I just feel like I could die
The sacrifices of this expression
When should I bring this to mention?
What comes next, what will be best?
Is this right, is this wrong?
I’m so tired, so heavy with thinking
I wonder what we’re doing tonight?
And for every night for the next one hundred years.
There's a sing-song voice
Ringing in my ear
And an atomic bomb
Bringing you here
I won't ever find
The secret to my life
As long as I run
And hide from the knife
I think of you often
With flowers in your hair
It may seem absurd
But I can't leave this chair
I always have this idea that you were the catalyst
The match that lit my pyre ablaze
I always say that you broke the camel's back
To a simplified extent,
This is fact
But not only you alone truly broke it's weathered back
A mixture of good and bad
Big and small
It all shaped this funeral pyre of my former self
Waiting to be lit
And create something new
For so long I wished for a change in my world around m
When all I needed was to revolutionize myself
There is a slight anxiety still talking about last year's affairs
But for all intended purposes,
This is not me meticulously searching through your words to figure out what went wrong
This is me building myself
Understanding what I have gone through to create a new me
A better me
You lit the pyre,
But also kick-started the revolution
It's been about a year since it began,
And for lack of better words,
It's fucking awesome.
I was almost happy once. I was on the edge of a bridge, fingertips grasping to the side when I smiled.
I smiled at the possibility of being free from the pain but then as I slid closer to the end I saw my family and felt their pain and I opened my eyes and I pulled myself up. I was almost happy once.
I looked in the mirror and told myself that it wasn't for me it was for their sake I stay because if it was for me i'd be long gone in that deep bay but for them I stay strong and I hold up my head and I pull down my sleeves. I was almost happy once. They tell you it gets better so you look to the sky and you think of the future and you kiss it goodbye not thinking of the ones who are here on the ground who are crying and wondering how they had never found all the cuts on your thighs or the drugs that you hide. I was almost happy once. I clung to that railing with tears on my cheeks as the wind whipped at my hair and took my will to speak when a person who knew me not grasped at my hand and told me "Don't you dare let go of me now, none of this is worth it come with me and you'll see." I looked in their eyes and found that the key wasn't to find the happiness in me. I was almost happy once.