how do you draw a line
in metamorphic rock?
between self growth
and selfishness
all of the lines
become so blurry,
it's like sobriety
means absolutely
nothing.

I wish that I could
put my brain in your
skull so that you
could understand
just what kind of
mountains I have climbed
and how close I feel
to the summit.

these blurred lines and
rock giants are better
left unsaid, but that
does not mean I don't
wish that you'd ask
what I'm thinking.

today i hold
the hand of existence,
of self, of muddled
understanding, and
sight through scratched
and hot-breath-fogged
lenses caught between
sun and tsunami

i will be still through
torrential downpours
of doubt, desire, and
detriment, because i
must learn to be still
and to be soaked to
the bone with what
each storm i've born
washes over me

while skin may prune
and hold moisture, mind
and soul will hold nothing
but the breath which
never ceases to come
and go, whether in
this life or the next

to be alive is not to be
conscious, but to be
conscious is to be
truly alive

i wish to be alive
i will be alive

and all will
begin and end
with a breath

feeling for feeling -
fingertips, foundations, friends,
they slip, they slip

i know not what i once knew,
but for always and forever,
there is more to know

growth is the answer that i get,
to whatever question i decidedly ask,
it's roots deepening and branches reaching

and the pain, it's brief, but deep,
haven't felt it in awhile,
but i know it's the good kind

loss is inevitable, but so is strength,
and the buckets never seem to empty,
no matter how much is poured

so, i will swim, paddle, and float
my way to a better existence
beyond the ether and into a new day

we agree that it's the weather,
the never ending grey,
the sludge trudging

I wear blinders,
even in my sleep

days go by and heads hang low,
low, lower, and homemade
salsa doesn't bring smiles

I look for hands to hold,
but I make myself alone

time is nothing, and everything,
but somehow it's lost faster
than dollar bills

I want freedom without handcuffs,
without retribution for flying

lists, plans, goals,
they pour out onto paper, yet,
somehow dreams are stifled

I wish for upheaval of self,
a genuine understanding

it's work to be healthy, to be happy - good thing I am strong.

i take pieces of us,
of you, of me,
and i tuck them
between couch cushions,
into empty cigarette packs,
amongst sheets stuffed
into the crack between
bed and wall

i hide them in places
meant to be found

i'm not planning on
losing us,
on losing you, on losing me,
but,
there are times
when i'm unsure
of what to do
with the pieces

today, I was asked,
by a machine,
"what's the best thing
that happened to you this week?"
and, it followed up with,
"don't be afraid to brag."

I spent awhile wondering
how you might
compute and crunch
just what it means
to receive your first hug
from a third grader
who you're harder on
than most
because you know
behind the lack of focus
lies genius left unexposed,

but I'm pretty sure
that's made every
sloppy, sludgy, snowy
trek this month
more than worth
my while