i am a collection of what people want me to be
of what i assume people want me to be
of what i hope people want me to be
acquired meticulously over time
and pressed out in my words and on my skin
like spread sheet data.

have you noticed how i love small things
that is why i am a poet
i savor the details
they give me life and spark my feelings

im moving soon
im going away
but no one answers the phone
or gives me the time of day
im sad and lonely
maybe no one knows what they have
until its gone
but i have a sinking feeling
they'll just forget and be done


with me.

i've never been
the kind of person
that others feel the need to impress
and go after
i'm not unwanted but i feel slightly less desirable
than the rest
it seems that being attainable is unattractive
i guess they assume i'll always be there
or that im not beneficial to their cause enough
i wonder what it is about me
that makes people less inclined
to text me first
or come running to me with gossip
i would consider myself an average listener
maybe even a pretty good one
i wonder what i'm missing
still, i don't think i'll ever stop seeking and listening
myself
is that my downfall? maybe so

sitting in the car, radio on
a poet died today
his name was Phillip Levine
87 years old
a good substantial lifetime
"Found Poetry On Detroit's Assembly Lines"
he wrote about assembly line workers all his life
how boring one may think
but for me something clicked
poets are just lovers, synonymous
finding beauty in the dust and streetlamp light
taking it in and falling deeply for years
there are those with many love affairs
but Phillip was a loyal partner
Detroit assembly lines his lifelong fiancee
making him raw, bringing him meaning
to him, the world
and to share it was all that mattered.

light trickles in from the window next door
same lot, new house, new family sleeping
its funny how things have changed around me
while i remain
i wonder if we will grow apart some day

i pass by the same faces, places
blank stares
no one cares all that much today
or yesterday
do i care? i don't know
i wonder if we will grow apart some day

i like to think there is a golden future ahead of me
when all this wandering ends
maybe loves and losses alike
and that I might forget
all the things that make me shudder in my sleep
i hope someone is sleeping next to me
i hope i am far away
i wonder if we will grow apart someday