Curl back into your turtle shell, solitude suits you well. Voice cracking, like a prepubescent teen. Love you more

when I’m driving down the interstate
I always have the same debate
I feel like I’m stuck in a **** crate

I would like to go.
drive down to Denver Colorado.
I would like to see
the west coast beach

when I’m driving down these side roads
I only see these toads
I would like to feel
that west coast real

I would like to walk,
have a nice talk.
I would like to be
with those that are free.

I’m parked in a driveway
and it’s only one way.
it’s definitely not -
it’s definitely not what i thought.

I admit, in writing,
I like my work read
Aloud.
So why do I cower
In dread,
When I hear it read
Before family and friends
At celebrations
For the living and dead.

There’s a place on 12th and Hawthorne
and one on 12th and Morrison
I want to take you there
and talk about how I care.
we just have to pay the bus fare

it’s just on the 70…
no where near my Kennedy
we’ll walk a couple blocks
it could be more like five
that’s ok we’ll be at high dive

I hope we do see mo.
she’ll be playing sad love ballads.
if we end up seeing shon
we’ll think he’s the Foo fighters lad
then there could be dan.
he’s still trying to be a man.

we’ll walk a few blocks more
there’s an attraction here
it’s called roadside, dear.
we can have a few beers.

we’ll sit on a lovely swing
and I’ll talk about this thing
I want to take you there.
however I’m just too scared.

You built your relationship, on the solid foundation, of thinking he would stay.

The glint of a gold coin discarded and under a hedge.
The unmistakeable ***** and ****** of the shrapnel congregating at the bottom of my pocket.
I can find any combination of currency in a lovely jingle jangle of metallic discs.
The cashier slips me a note and some change on top which spills onto the counter.
A 10 pence piece tries an audacious spinning escape morphing into a ball.
The change rattles again as it all settles at the bottom of my pocket after dropping in the new recruits.
I slide the discoloured crinkled creased five pound note into my leather wallet nicely nestling next to a ten pound note.
I love the  smell of ***** money!

You keep his last name, a trophy.
Like he'll notice the five letters behind your first name. It doesn't make a difference, he was born without a conscience.  I wish I could seperate the 24 genes that make up half my body, keep them. Keep your last name. Keep your life, I was always too much of a responsibility. Your excuses like a water fall.