I don't fight with forthgiant
little you, deft little you.

I find myself apologizing for the
music that I like and the way I talk,
letting people know that I say one
hundred wrong and I'm constantly
saying words with the wrong tone
apparently I say theater like an old
man and I'm sorry that I don't know
a lot about the pixies I can't fix these
little things about me. I will never know
more about john frusciante or IGN, I'll
never look into video games on my own
whim

I'm so tired of putting my radio
away and being afraid, that if
I play my music everyone will
walk away. That I have to make
the rhyme obvious to see, that I
have to split these paragraphs to
make it more easy. That I have
to censor everything I say, that
I have to stoop to a level that was
never easy to reach. I thought things
that were higher were the standards
to vie for but bending down is a task
i have fight for.

he sat out on the back
porch with the dog and
tugged on her collar.

it ain't your fault for doing
what you know

he said quietly, a swig of
water afterwards. and the
sun went down real slow
like behind the trees casting
purple shadows on his
carhartt boots

she'll not mistake your
nature, she knows what
you are and she loves you,

he said in hushed tones
as she moved through
the kitchen.

she loves you.

I am terribly
sad and angry
it is so easy for
you to be of the
world.

one foot in and one
foot back, well it don't
pay to live like that, so
I cut the ties and I jumped
the tracks*

The more I think about it
the more I realize that it
goes both way, but you
never jumped the tracks,
chris, you never jumped
the tracks

but
i
did.


because one foot in was
more than one foot back
and I was tired of standing
in the doorway.