Life is a perpetual state
of confusion, along with
a few other ingredients.

It's hard to nail down
what my personal recipe
is missing at the moment.

I feel as though if I were to
enter into the oven as is,
I would be the throw away batch.

You know, of course:
the brownie pan with the sunken
warm goo center.

Not bad, just ill formed
and underdeveloped
like myself.

But each day, I walk
and take one step
like mom always says.

It seems as though those things
I took for granted so much before
are the things I miss the most now.

Like waking up next to you
for nearly a week straight,
hair a mess, but heart in place.

Or you. Your stupid, ******* humor
which made me feel just a little more special than anyone else here.

I could write lines and lines
about different yous and she's,
but then it would lose track.

It's about me, finding my place
somewhere other than in sadness
or work or in being busy.

Because there's so much more
than that to this story.