You asked me if I would regret anything,
if I died today-
(getting dangerously close
to a question that prompted
my first ever dance).
I don't know if I can regret any actions,
because I wouldn't feel the way I do,
if I hadn't made the choices that got me here.
(You called me a blessing, with campfire smoke in my hair).
I don't know what happened
along this road.
I don't know if the like turned to love,
or if it ever could have.
(But I know for sure I liked the feel of your hand on my back).
I don't know what I wanted,
as the dying year passed us by.
(My pajamas embarrassed me, and I tried to be cool, and I tried not to hurt you).
I regret hurting you.
I regret not telling you the whole story.
I regret that we would never have had enough time anyway.
(I've never regretted you, though).
Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 9:47 PM UTC
Sundown was a small town that straddled a small river, which had no name, because there was no need- it was the only river, therefore simply The River. The shores were beautiful- sparkling sand, cans, and the sheen of oil on rocks.
But a little trickle of water escaped through a grove of mismatched green and brown trees and formed a quiet, grey-blue pool, which, like all things, had been claimed. This small pool had the unlikely fortune of being ruled primarily and almost exclusively by frogs.
The Sundown Frogs' dominion over the little pond was broken only on the few days when the black-booted man came to visit.
A rock, neither small nor overly large, sat on the side of the Frog Pond, and the man would sit with the rock and quietly ask for its secrets.
Sometimes the rock would cry, dripping oil and water, and sometimes the rock would remain as stoic as the man himself.
If the man, a minister, decided sit long enough for the trees to quiet, very slowly, the Sundown Frogs would return, their soft croaks following like shadows.
One day, as the minister had been sitting close by for hours, a frog jumped quite near him. It landed on a lily pad coated with the rock's tears, and the ripples it made reached the minister's unforgiving black boots.
The frog looked at the man, and the man looked back.
This contest of pride was ended only by the soft buzzing of a fly, lazily making its way over the little pond. The minister now straightened his spine, for this was his favorite part.
It was fascinating to him, the frog and it's life. How her tongue released, curled, and then retracted. Just like that! a death of a fly.
The minister had watched such a show so many times he could imagine the action in his head, step by step, like pictures in a old film reel.
Out like lighting, the curl, the buzzing stops, in quicker than out, and then the silence of death.
And so the minister said to the frog, sitting on her lily pad, "The coming days will be brighter, for the sun must always rise again in the morning."
The frog said nothing, because frogs never do.
In the silence, the frog jumped away, and in the empty silence that followed her hollow splash, the minister promised to return again tomorrow.
Dec 26, 2017
Dec 26, 2017 at 10:08 PM UTC
I've never been the jealous type
So when you leave me,
Like they always do,
I won't begrudge you your someone new.
It's funny how you learn
You can both be good people
and not be good for each other
I've never been the jealous type
But when you say you love me,
Ill never quite know for sure
It's hard to tell when you're this insecure.
I've never been the jealous type,
I'm not scared you'll leave me,
I'm scared of looking in the mirror
and seeing the one before
(The one smarter
The one prettier)
I'm scared I'll love you
I'm scared I won't.
(It's happened before)
I'm scared of hurting you
I'm scared of hurting her
This has never happened before
Sometimes things happen,
Just a little too fast
Sometimes things happen,
You didn't think would last
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 12:21 AM UTC