Glass, shattered, scattered,
blasted over the concrete.
A forgotten ketchup packet,
never knowing the sweet release
of being squeezed over fresh fries.
Bricks printed with names, donors,
good deeds in memory.
A bustling street, not crowded,
but busy, whirling and rushing.
The occasional feet, sport-shoed
or slippered, or booted,
crunching past the shattered glass.

On a long walk home
from the mechanic shop,
I stopped and paused in awe.
A pristine park, lush, green,
lay to my right, completely inviting
except the black iron fence
and imposing gate.
Beyond the bars were tables and grass,
a play structure waiting to be filled.
No kids laughed, no parents chatted,
the place was empty.
I say down to rest,
back against the bars,
grabbed my thermos and poured
a steaming cup of tea,
my eyes scanning the streets.

I don't know about my connections.
They're transient, maybe?
Energy put in is pulled, not given,
and the eye contact,
the ******* eye contact.
My irises give away too much.
Holding my gaze is too deep,
almost like sharing
those secrets I keep.
Deserving?
Hardly.
Pretentious? I am, definitely,
hell, even I hate me sometimes.
Cut the lines,
sever the ties,
I never cared much for them anyway.

All these people spilling,
letting themselves slosh over the sides,
tossing back courage,
tongues slipping secrets with a flourish,
nonchalant, letting things fly.

My lid, usually ******* on tight,
loosens slightly,
but not enough,
not like the rest.
I play things close to the chest.
Y'all don't need to know about me.
y'all don't need to hear my things.
I've got dead friends,
I've got self-inflicted scars,
I've got self-hatred, loathing, lies, wounds,
but I share them crucially.
Don't try and rouse it from me,
if I share,
I care,
otherwise,
beware.

I write in pen,
for fear that lead would fade,
slowly scraped from the page
as ages pass.
Maybe grasping the inevitable,
whether leaded or penned,
moves my hand toward ink,
marks me for the passion to float,
not sink.
Despite that bite, I'm toothless
half the time,
a spaceship primed for travel,
but un-fueled.

So,
this notebook is your fuel,
empowering you to fill
from end page to end page,
engaging your will to strive,
thrive,
rise,
continuing to pen rhymes.
Not to live,
but to exist.

Don't be afraid to be a mammal,
designed to laze.
Learn a lesson from the kittens,
eat, sleep, play.
Shame has no place
saying the day was a waste.
Society pushes productivity,
filling every second with money-making,
side jobs, schemes.
Take a seat society,
let us dream nonsense dreams.
Let us use time to sit back,
soak in the sun,
and smile.

You always shook my hand,
always wanted your family to flourish,
always seemed content
knowing your kids and grand-kids
were living happy lives.
I didn't know you well,
but I know you cast a calming spell,
and without you here
the world is missing
something important