i remember the day
i got my bed

in my childhood room
with all my family
gathered round
we took my old
threadbare quilt
out of its bag
for the first time
and spread it out

and at six years old
i was too small to
climb up into it
and had to use a step stool

and i remember my
grandma said
what a good solid
piece of furniture it was
how it would last me
until i got married

that was fifteen years ago
but the other day
when i shifted my weight
something cracked

i thought it was just
another slat breaking
(we’ve replaced
most of them)
but when i investigated
something else had broken

it was me
and my ties
to the past and
future and learning
how to lose your family

it was the friendship
that had been there
from the beginning
the ***** blonde imp whose solution
to the height problem was a
running start across the room
or twisting her toes around knobs
on the drawers to get a step up

she and i had our
share of shenanigans
broke a few slats together
but she’s never been afraid
of climbing on what’s mine
to end up on top

the offer has been made
to take measurements
and the mattress off
reassess the damage
invent some kind of
proper repair
rebuild some bridges
that have burned

but i don’t
know anymore

the slats that i began with
my mother and father
brothers and grandparents
and childhood friends
some of them have snapped
where knotholes made a fault line

but i replaced them
with boards bigger
thicker and without
such obvious defects

it was the leaving that
broke this last piece
but i see no need to fix it
when i’m not bringing it with me

no matter how they
groan and creek and
call me a disappointment
i’m not moving my bed again
and i’m not
getting married either

and i’m sorry
to all those that
i have let down
like bed slats breaking
one by one
and to all those that
i will let down at
some point in the future

but i want to fall
peacefully asleep at night
and not through cracks
in my own sanity

and i can’t let anyone
break me
like i was just some
weakened bed slat

you’re free now
to live your life
the way you want
for the first time ever
it’s all your choice
to make

and until you find
someone who can live
without telling you otherwise
it will stay that way

and what i forgot
to tell you is

(now keep in mind that
nobody can tell you
what to do this is just
a suggestion but
as you know i am blessed
with superior knowledge)

that you and me
(maybe macklemore
but we don’t plan
our futures around
such fickle creatures
as that disreputable
species known as men)
will find a cute little
lake town
the kind with rich
snobbish retired folks
and tourists
and boat tours and all
that watery nonsense

and we’ll open an
adorable little shop
and sell flowers
all sorts of
artistanal gifts
and we’ll have coffee
and warm homemade
pastries in the mornings

and we might not get
rich but we’ll make a
living which is all
that really matters

and we will retire
about 70
sell our shop to some
young whippersnappers
that remind us
of who we were when
we were younger
and more foolish

(but don’t assume we
will be significantly less
foolish at this point
in fact i hope that we
will actually age like
some sort of hilarious
variety of moldy cheese)

and we shall retire
to our tiny little
lake front residence
and occupy a front porch
with a glass crystal pitcher
of well-spiked peach tea
and jeer at everyone under the
age of eighty who passes by

and that, my dear
is what i wanted to express to you
that you’ve got
an entire life ahead
of you and cannot afford
to be put on the back burner
for somebody else’s
shimmery dreams of grandeur

so don’t think
too hard about my plan
because that’s all just
castles in the clouds
the story i tell myself
at night when i’m too
worried about the future
to get to sleep

but think
about this

today was not
the end
today was another
day in the very
mucky and unsubstantiated
middle segment of your life

(the middle is
the worst
like the middle of an afghan
or the middle of a poem
that is quickly derailing
from the original point
and i am afraid that when we’re
neither young nor old
but middle aged
nobody will laugh at our jokes
except ourselves
so maybe it doesn’t even matter)

and now
you get to
wake up tomorrow
and continue on
with your life
the way you want it

(which isn’t to say you’ll
live it alone forever but
you must live it alone until
you know you can survive alone)

so this is what i’ve been
meaning to tell you

other people come and go
(except me
you’re stuck there)
but you will spend
more time with yourself
than anybody else

and i’ve been
meaning to tell you
life goes on and
you’re going to get old
and it’s better to grow
old at peace with your
choices than to be
young forever and fooling
yourself into thinking
things will change
so there’s no doubt
you did the right thing

so here’s the
point of all this

i love you
and have always tried
my best to be your
biggest supporter
but that’s going
to change today

because today
was your first lesson
in being your own
biggest supporter

so cheers to this
the future
growing old
and growing happy

now get out there
an knock em dead

depression
rears it’s ugly head
with no desire to do
anything

except lay
in bed
scroll
sleep
wake up and
eat
watch tv
sleep
and
sleep

sitting
in silence
listening to
the fan spin
and wondering
why i bother

why i’m still
here when
nothing i do
even matters

that everyone
would be
happier
without me
around to
bother them

it’s the kind of
time of life
where the only
real peace of mind
to be found is
in bob dylan

the old bob dylan
that you find in
broken cd cases
floating in forgotten
thrift store
music stacks

the songs of a young
person who didn’t know
where he was going in
a crazy and unjust world
he couldn’t control as it
fell apart around his ears

bob dylan never has
any answers for me
just rambles on
another interlude of
mournful harmonica
until i remember
he told me where
the answers are
and the answers
aren’t easy to find

up there in the sky
whistling around
bare tree branches
holding up birds’ wings
letting a lost balloon travel
thousands of miles from
the tightly clenched hand
of the child who lost it

how many years
has it been?
and i’m still here
blowing in the wind

the winds are busy
too busy to stop
for one second and
just give me the answer

why
am i
even
here?

i don’t want
to be here
maybe this earth
just isn’t for me

or maybe i should
give up on whatever
is left here for me
hop on a bus and
become some kind of
modern rambling man

because i don’t know
and almost don’t care
what i’m doing here
doing right now

all i want
is sleep
even half conscious
muddled sleep
anything to distract
from the grotesquely
realistic nightmare
that is real life

or maybe i’ll get
utterly wasted
on cheap ***
and miserable thoughts
drown them out until
something stronger
than the alcohol
pulls me down
something strong
like sleep

because now
when it’s time to sleep
i find myself
completely unable to

i’m trying to
look at the positives
trying to see this as
an opportunity
but all i can see
is an eternity
stretching before me
of what if’s and
maybe this and why
and why not and
who do i want to be
what do i want to do

a lifetime
of indecisions
rolls its carpet out
in front of my feet

i wasn’t ready
i’m not ready now
i’ll probably never
be ready for anything

what am i
even doing

no answers to be found
here in this poem
just rambling as the
cd spins on until it
scratches to a halt
rub my eyes
press play
hope maybe on this
go round i can find
an answer

but the thing i never
seem to remember is
there isn’t any
answer to be found

not when it’s flown
away and is up
in the clouds watching
the sunset and the
stars begin to pop
out of the deep blue

just blowing
away in the wind

i used to be able
to sleep

wasn’t afraid
of getting up
and facing my day
could take an
afternoon nap
in my own bed
without having dreams
that woke me up
heart racing

disjointed ideas
and people
novocaine and needles
in my mouth
drugs to numb me
being able to fly
over sharp mountain peaks
of white circus tents
in the rain
being chased by
villains in black capes
the fear of dying

my loved ones
decaying houses in the
middle of town
having ***
needing ***
and melting down
crying and sobbing
old familiar panic
a lump in my throat
the fear of

something
what?

“you have to tell her
you have to tell your mother”
not his voice
but his voice of reason
blowing gently
through the scene
the memory of
a dozen conversations

my head in his chest
his hands on my back
and the crippling
paralyzing
panic taking
over my body

i was never afraid
of the psych ward
i was afraid of the woman
who put me there

of the threats
the bribes
the guilt
and the way she
could win every fight
and leave me
choking in the dust
of words that wouldn’t
squeeze out past
the lump in my throat

the fear is of
falling apart
and when i begin
to unravel is when
that fear becomes
debilitating

what am i
afraid of
in this dream
that doesn’t
even make
sense?

not the fear
of falling apart
because i have
already collapsed

the fear
the fear
the fear
the fear of

i can’t allow myself to admit it
but i have to

the fear is
of her

that’s what’s behind
it all i’m afraid
of my own
mother

and why
am i afraid?

what can she
do that will
actually hurt me
endanger me?

how much power
does she hold?

and that’s when i
wake up
shivering and
thirsty

i’m falling
through the cracks
in my own
conscience

i can’t be a perfect
person and i
know that all too well
but i resent myself
for the flaws in me
i can’t seem to change

is it that i can’t
change or that
i don’t want to
don’t try hard enough?

the thoughts
begin to loop
around themselves
and form a strong
rope that snakes
it’s way around my
wrists and chest
and begins to tie
off my airways
from oxygen

if there is one
thing i know
it’s women that
use your own words
against you
women who find
satisfaction in
the power of making
other people hurt

i know
i’ve seen it
experienced it
and it’s tempting
oh so tempting
to do it myself

but the worst
thing i could do
is let myself become
those that hurt me

flip over
try the other side
and the more i think
about the sleep i need
the more time passes
and the less i get

if only
i could just
get some peace
in my own head

i want to
dissolve
into my sheets
let my body fall
apart in flakey
pieces like
pastry dough
to float away
in sleep where
life can’t hurt me

to let my skin
peel off and
crumble into
my bed
let the blankets
creep up over me
like myrtle
overtaking a yard

i want
to dissolve
drift back in time
to when the weight
on my back could
be lifted by coming
home and taking
off the backpack

want to
dissolve
so that the sum
total of who i am
isn’t even
recognizable
just a formless
soft and hazy
quietly breathing
mound of nothingness

i don’t want
to be here
i want to be
in bed
a bed where i
don’t have to get
up in the morning
don’t have to make
myself move from
just a bed where
i can sleep
and sleep

and
sleep

let me
dissolve