Or somewhere
it's raining hard and it hurts

they tell you time and time again
but nobody ever does

nobody

saves

she’s not in broken pieces.
she’s whole.
like she’s never had to tape herself back together just to get through a day.
her stomach is flat,
but all that’s flat about me
is my humor.
when i try to be enough,
and still fall short.

she’s hilarious.
she knows what to say, always.
how to make people laugh,
how to make him feel heard,
how to end a fight
with a kiss or a joke.
me?
i freeze.
i shut down.
i say the wrong thing,
or nothing at all.

she can argue with him
and still make him feel loved.
i argue and feel like
i’ve already lost.
she knows how to be fire and warmth.
i’m just scared of being
too much heat,
or not enough.

she can fill his bed
like it’s made for her.
like she belongs there.
i flinch at the thought,
afraid my body isn’t
something that could hold comfort.
she fits into all the places
i don’t.

he rests his head on her shoulder,
like it’s the only place peace lives.
with me,
he only watches from a distance,
like i’m something delicate he can break,
or something heavy
he’s too tired to carry.
i am.

she is everything i’m not.
she is confidence,
and comfort,
and beauty,
and laughter.
she is ease.
and i?
i’m just a pause between heartbeats.
i’m just trying to be worth
the space i take up.
she is everything.
and i…
i don’t know what i am.

these words retained, their authorship lost and unresolved,
but their siren sounding ringing, ding ding dinging;
resoundingly and unresolved:

we do not always, indeed, hardly ever safe harbor the true origin and
the true meaning of  our memories, but they come returning to us with accompanied shrouded shuddering, so oft, for frequent "EX'ing:"

Excellent exhilaration, expiration,
exhalation, variant explanations,
and unsatisfactory excitations but
never any finality of finale
exiting

the memories and the meanings
return modified, encumbered by
prior visionings, and the meaning
further twisted, their import
un lessened, until some resolution
is reached required retained
and a new memory is formed,
perhaps imagined,
perhaps not,
nonetheless
the siren sounds, the mind alerted,
we commence daily, nightly
to reimagine what we once imagined...even
endings...
nml

humility

comes from odd places,
and so oft unexpected,
a comment leads me to
fine lace, of which I see know
nought and naught, and to Normandy and Northern England,
rafting into history

and what the difference is tween
naught and nought (not much)

and my ignorance is stupendous,
really, I know so little about so much, and it staggers me into
wailful willful

and honest

humility

Like King David in the bible, as I grow older, bones grow colder, seeking added warmth  where, how, ever, mechanical, humanoid

Start my day, with a Canadian mug, illustrated with Vincent Van Gogh's Almond Blossoms, brim 19 .oz filled of Caribbean islands blended beans an elixir biblical that soul restoreth, and yet fresh from the *** yet requires 1:30 seconds of maximum additional heating

and I drink it down in minutes few

and go back for another

I know I'm droning on, many of you have escaped looking for pithy
abbreviated angsty desperation that
tumbles out of troubled chests

well you have to just keep on wailing
what no mas?

nope

but u can always hope

sorry this poem joke is in you...
but feel free to microwave me
back