I don’t have to wake up too early
I get to

I don’t have to go to work
I get to

I don’t have to deal with my neighbors
I get to

I don’t have to eat a healthy dinner
I get to

I don’t have to call my parents
I get to

I don’t have to wash the dishes
sweep the floors
feed the pets
hang the laundry
scrub the toilet
I get to

I don’t have to pack her lunch
with a smile
and a lovely note
I get to

I don’t have to do
the things I dread
or the things I love
I get to

I don’t have to keep on living

I get to!

so effing hot today

my skin melting
fat crackling
muscles sizzling
flesh evaporating
bones cracking
skeleton crumbling
burning down
to glowing embers

even my ashes echoing
lamenting the heat

Holy words tell me
If you wanna find your life
You first gotta lose it
But I need you to sell me
On how the pain gives meaning
I need you to prove it

Cause now it just hurts
I can't believe I lost him
He's gone
We checked all the right boxes
Made all the right moves
He a worthy king
But I a lowly pawn

I've lost the one I love
And just as much
I feel I've lost my life
So what words from above
Can heal the hurt
Overcome the strife?

What's left to be found?
I treasure nothing anymore
Those holy words ring hollow
Don't tell me what's in store

And yet

I remain strong
Though I so deeply long
To hold him again
For even a day
I let him go freely
And I know
It's true what they say
All will be right

So now I just pray
To endure this long night
With a hope shining bright
That tomorrow
I'll find my way

For things we lose
Have a strange way
Of coming back again
So in the end
The loss will be
Worth the pain
To jumpstart
This breakaway

A crow never stole corn
   that the earth didn’t give freely
The man too often takes
  too much credit for what
    he puts down into the dirt
Wether it is a seed or a body
As if he alone made
  life sprout and grow
As if without him
   the earth would not be green
    the sky would not be blue
As if he himself is
  the very GOD he prays to
The man forgets his place
  when murdering the crow
   for nothing more
     than being a crow
Mistaking black beaks
  and black feathers
    and black eyes
  as things that must
    always be up to no good
A bird that is no good
  for anything but a target
    for his hate and fear
As if the crows heart
   was meant for nothing other
     than to give his bullets
        something to bite into
The man becomes something
   less and less
 every time he murders
    another crow