Block and mortar loom overhead: taunting me from heights i have not reached
I trace there, small cracks in weather-worn stone
yet sturdy and dependable, beautiful even as my fingers ****** under your touch
and, i fit.
I cling and cower in the face of your shadow,
as my fingerprints mar the path i have chosen
oh, dear wall
I wish you would care for my fate
hold me and acknowledge my efforts, most sincere.
I am small, ******, nearly-breaking
wind whipped cheeks, blotchy, tear-streaked
protect me, keep me safe as i admire you for what you are.
Yet there you remain, indifferent to my desire
breathtaking even while you crumble where i struggle to grasp.

I am slipping.
I am falling.
Can I pretend that I am flying?

What an odd thing it is to be
somehow both a child and grown
yet never being either; or anything else.
Working all day, to accomplish my not-dreams
heavy-a-burden wrapped in my name

My mother tells me about "the real world"
and how I will never survive
The past dismissed as a childhood game
of tall tales, heartbreak, and mere make-believe.

I am lost in what that little girl would think
of the woman, I apparently will never come to be.
Her blue eyes, blond hair, three left feet,
chubby hands, toothy smiles, and head of daydreams.

Would she be proud of the strength I've shown?
Disappointed to learn that it was required?
Mourn for my once-future and how it is now out of reach?
Or cheer with sticky hands for the surprises, now received?

Once more, to start with, or even yet again
Will I be asked these impossible things?
At what point do I learn whatever lesson
gives the answer I am enslaved by?

And is the lesson even worth it?
Does it ever even matter?
If the exchange for my growth
is a disdainful reminder
of how little I know

In Japanese, there is a concept of "Ma"
the silence in between claps,
the moment that separates lightning from thunder
its a pause with a purpose
silent for a reason
a moment to break away from chaos

you exist in the moments between big events
a text, a hug, a "you'll be okay"
always there, never far, but never pushing
gentle in the way you ease fears,
yet never fearing to show your love

you exist in the smell of old paint and inks
books worn with love and late-night tears
old lady sweaters that you make look stylish
and cat pictures I can show my boss

you adapt like the tide
push and pull and everything in between
carrying people with you, so gently
a soothing balm for the tired soul

songbirds have nothing on you.

The sick cells of my stomach
Weigh over me like a coffin
I am aware of their existence
But not of their decisions
Will they grow? And change?
Or will they stay? Remain as the same?.

I laugh with my friends,
About my free trial of death
How my lease on life might be ended
Before it really even began

Of course that may never happen,
Which is even funnier you see
This knot in my stomach grows bigger
Even as it never changes

The fear I feel is palpable
And that coffin seems to lower
The weight of it is in my heart
And I wonder if I’m inside

The old man turned back to give one last smile
And he raised his mug in a greeting stopping in the aisle
And I remember the days when I first met him
Learning to have that yellow cup filled to the lid

He throws back the last “sweetheart” he will probably ever call me
And I tell him to “drive safe”, “be careful”, and a sad “see you maybe”
The way his eyes lit up when I told him that I was finally
Moving onto bigger and better things

Three years, three jobs, two cities, two names
And every ‘by chance’ meeting punctuated with a wave
And the old man says he knows “ill be great”
And I smile bitterly as we go our separate ways

Roger, you give me hope.
In our small interactions
That things will be ok
Because even when things change
Some people always stay the same

Coffee.
eight cream, no sugar
Hi sweetheart, it's been a while