Yesterday I came home mad
I had the house to myself
so I went to my room
and packed a bowl
I decided to clean the bathroom
because for me,
cleaning is therapeutic
I took a hit and then scrubbed the sink
I took a hit then cleaned the toilet
I took a hit and then cleaned the mirrors
I took a hit and scrubbed the bathtub
I took a hit and swept the floors
the bathroom I stood in smelled like bleach
and
marijuana
I felt better
burning and bleaching the days gunk away

Would You?

Would you reach for me
if I were drowning-
even if it meant
you would be pulled down into the depths of the
sea
with me?
Would you
reach for me?
In my most
desperate moments,
if I asked for you,
would you respond?
If I called,
would you respond?
I don't think so, anymore.
I guess I wanted
more from you
than you could
ever give.

My Dad Bert I love you so
Please stay with me please don't go
I need you there it may not show
Without you here there is no glow
I need your heart I hope you know
My feelings are from deep below

My Dad Bert you are so kind
A nicer man you'll never find
If I'm upset please don't mind
it's hard to cope without the bined
Sometimes life is such a grind
With our loved ones left behind

I Want you here I love your smile
I need you for a longer while
Your in my mind a life long file
I always remember your profile
I can't imagine your hard mile
My Dad Bert you are worthwhile

the man who raised me.
the ma who made me who i am today.
the man who looked at me and saw things in me
nobody else did.
the man who inspires his fifth grade
students the same way he's inspired me
for 17 years.
i am a sunflower and he is the sun.
i angle my head to soak in his golden
drops of love to help me grow.
life would be unimaginable without him.
imagine a beach without the roaring mighty ocean.
imagine a hospital without doctors.
it is hard to write a poem using the right
words to describe my father.
so all i will say is this:
he is my father
and his is
irreplaceable.

And when you cried.
Oh when you started to cry.
I felt something inside of me
Drop to the pit of my stomach
Because I had failed you.
I had failed to lift your problems
Off of your shoulders.
I had failed
At making you happy.
And so as you cried
I caught each teardrop
In my hands
And counted each one
And stored them in a jar.

That's my job, it's what I do
assign a number to your pain
to get a bill paid
like that's all it is, a number

But I'm happy to use that code
instead of another
that you made it somehow
to tell the doctors
you regretted it the moment you did it
and they all say that

this isn't the right job for me, I take a bit too long
because when I read things like your story
I have to stop, take a sip of my coffee
close my eyes
and think of where you are, which room, which bed
and send you thoughts and energy and anything I can muster
I don't believe in things like that
generally
but it's the only thing I can do

I'll always remember the sister
asking if he'll play guitar again
not understanding what brain dead is