Its not that I remember you
cause I never forgot,
but when I actually think back
I instantaneously get lost.

I get lost in the current,
tension in the waters,
wondering your distance,
the sloshing in my stomach.

The waves of each emotion
crashing the time thats still passing
starting to feel slow motion,
the regret still amassing

and its never a regret of you.
its my disturbance,
the ripples I sent before I could've stayed.
So I've remained at bay.
Sitting. Waiting. Wadding.
treading. dreading. debating.

I cant send blame when I sent you away.
I send out a line.
ring once. twice. stop trying?
Know i've been attempted to do whats best
even if its putting this to rest.
Ive disturbed the peace.
once. twice. more? before.
I settle on the sea floor.
I have found peace in the still
counting krill. growing gills.

I can breathe now.
Head under water.
Find peace now.
though my love has never faltered.

I could live this way.
I just don't want to.

Every person I've known and loved,
knows of you too. By name.

Chemistry but lacks poetry.
Is it in the worth on the other side
or am I better off not trying?

Is poetry abrupt or slow building?
Is that the quiet difference
between poetry and prose?
Like the subtle, sometimes unknown
reason behind the colors of a rose..
Subtle still doesn't negate the fact
that there IS a difference...
Even if it's only known by
gifter and/or the beholder.

and I think thats what I'm getting at.

first time I ever wrote a real letter
6 pages
ill never send
it holds the truth
mine.
and sending it would likely only benefit me
so ill keep it.
but if you come across this.
I love you.
always have.
always will.
my distorted sense of saving was to our detriment.
I will always want you.
It was always you, even when I lied to purposely push you away.
my doors always open.
im sorry. for everytime ive left. and every bit of pain I caused you.
youre brilliant. strong. beautiful.
I wish things couldve been different.
I wish we couldve really tried.
Id give you forever.
I hope youre happy and if youre not, I hope you get everything you ever wanted, even if it isnt with me.

no lets live in this scene, improv or scripted
bring the drama, spill the trauma
let your voice crack on the high notes
curtain calls and im pulling them back
place my tongue between them
as I write the next monologue directly on your skin but with no trace.
is this all not a stage?
Is every item not a prop and we not actors?
At what point did you stop pretending
or start
and become the character you were casted to be
Did you not choose this part?
Do you not continue to choose everyday as the acts move forward and players come and go from the stage right to left
We see it in politics
and these days feel like fanfics
which are only fiction until they come to fruition
so what exactly is fiction when reality these days seems so far out the scope possibility
and is it not easiest to digest in sitting in the idea that this is all a film.
an experiment.
a free willed improvisation
a shakespearean tragedy
a play in which the stage has always been on fire but each actor waltzes on soft feet
and shares words that could provoke emotion
and maybe even action to further the agenda of this art.
No matter stage or destiny
nevertheless. this all is art
you and I the masterpiece
the script
the standard
the play that hasnt been written but is

I look at you when you were a child
and still see exactly who you are now
Imagining the pain you must have felt
and wondering how any of it couldve been dealt
to such a joy. A light. A smile. A child.
Cant justify any relative burn as mild
when scars remain, though sutured, wired
same child walks in bigger shoes but tired
Carrying the weight of a heaven
on time thats been borrowed.
My heart aches for a child
that prayed against a tomorrow.
plagued with sorrow, Led with a blindfold
and still remained soft to grow.
Going where wind blows and not even know
what tomorrow might bring yet
lying in wait for whatever fight there is to win.
For the love of your blood.
Trauma plagued line destined through time.
Written in the stars.
Shackled to bars that are meant to be broken.
Hand dealt not worth folding
even if chasing the river,
it wins. Floods with meaning. abundance.
The blessing in standing out.
Not to blend.
Not to bend.
To remain in your power
rescind the sin. Rebuild within.
Uplift your line. Stand with them.
**** the condemned.
Karma amended.
I will hold said child through it all
and be both your very best friend.