I still have the scars on my ankle
From the day we got drunk in school

I have a few nights burned in my brain
I have some type of mind
That returns to a mountain girl
I make peace with bodies thought otherwise to be dead
I make no apologies for laughter in churches
And my throat was raw on the first day of spring

I miss flying high in that aeroplane
Where guitar strings did anything but strangle our hearts
I left the state
Just to play our soundtrack to a room full of strangers

You're not ******* winning. No one wins.

"Get a little rock and roll on the radio and go toward all the life there is with all the courage you can find and all the belief you can muster. Be true, be brave, stand. All the rest is darkness."

If I could write a poem by just throwing a bunch of imagery
on a page, then I would. And I do. For example, this weekend
was pounding floods filling up homes and clogging minds
thunderously down hills, lightning and fear, and then it was
fire in the sky and heat, steaming the water back up,
sunlight, sunburns, tank tops, sitting on concrete
running through the mud, staying up late, plans not made,
snowballs, dried throats, black coffee, red skies, board games
grass to wet to sit on, sleepy eyes, the first hint of summer, trees blooming,
washing our legs in the lake, school canceled, getting work done, with friends forever.
Soon I will be free. Am I not already free?
We talk about our futures and sing songs like we're
all gonna make it. Have we made it? Will we be alright?
Time rolls onward and forward and seasons pass and change
and I have my own car now. I will be eighteen years old soon.
I hope God stays with me. I hope I stay with God.

You laid on a towel, eyes glued to a screen
That phone was more interesting than me,
And you missed so much because of it
You missed the ducklings that swam by
Missed the giant pelican that landed on the cypress tree
You missed the way the current changed with the wind
You missed the croaks of the alligators
Missed the sounds of acoustic guitar and James Taylor
You missed the way the sun light hit my hair
You missed my brown eyes trying to find yours
You missed the conversations we could have had
You missed the tiny moments that make a memory
You'll remember a boring day or texting someone else
But I'll remember the birds, the music, the water, the smells
I'll remember the conversations in my head
And I'll remember how you weren't a part of it

And if you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born
then it's time to go and define your destination.
There's so many different places to call home.

Because when you find yourself the villain in the story you have written
It's plain to see that sometimes the best intentions are in need of redemption.

day by day, minute by minute,
I know my future holds more
I learn how much I am worth.