a t-shirt. one that is a terrible color. 
my mom's least favorite, burnt orange. 
it shares a disgusting likeness to rust. 
and yet my dad would wear it everyday. 
regardless of everyone around him's distrust. 
"no one would dare to wear that in public" 
my mom said, she was wrong. 
perhaps when she married him she was not aware 
of my dad's inexplicable connection to 
this terrible color, or to t-shirts in general i guess
for about six out of the seven days a week regardless 
he would be wearing that same shirt
for the almost 20 years they have been married 
he can be found wearing that same shirt
however, there's a slight misconception
he doesn't have just one shirt 
he has dozens of those nasty burnt orange colored shirts 
and i suppose i forgot to mention that it's to support a football team
which seems shallow in theory but the aforementioned is
non-other than the texas longhorns. 
my dad grew up there and attended college there. 
he wasn't even a part of the team, and yet 
for the last 35 years he's been wearing that same shirt.
i simply can't understand his undying affinity 
i barely recognize the mascot of our own school team. 
there is a certain dedication, a certain love that he must feel towards this place, towards that team. 
however as i'm writing this poem i simply can't ascertain what it's all supposed to mean? 
texas, a place of southern accents, cowboys, and racism. 
not somewhere i typically tend to associate with even
though it was the place where i was born in 
on a Tuesday almost 17 years ago at about 1pm 
and of course i arrive
too early for my own good, 
so i stayed in a hospital in ICU until they said i could
be taken home to a house i barely remember. 
i wouldn't call that place home. 
and yet, my dad wearing another variation of his classic burnt orange t-shirt today 
that reminds me that's where i came from 
i came from burnt orange beginnings. 
and even though i might live in a blue ocean paradise as of now. 
that's not where i started. 
i tell myself that i am so much more that the place my life began in. 
so instead of loving where i started and the color that comes with it. 
i continue to despise that burnt orange color and compare it to rust 
and all other things that fill me with unexplainable disgust. 
but in the spirit of honestness. i don't hate it as much as i contest 
don't ask me about it however because for sure all i’ll do is protest
but even when i was little seeing that orange shirt and ******* car 
arrive in the driveway of my old school was truly the best 
looking for that ugly orange shirt at the end of the day when he always asked me what i had learned
hugging that terrible orange shirt when i'm crying 
after scraping my knee on the concrete
taking car rides with that orange shirt seated beside me 
that seemed as long as a lifetime to go see the turtles on the north shore  
after watching him present himself at a showing of a house we could never afford
watching that orange shirt fumble and stumble teaching me to drive 
fixing my air conditioner with this orange shirt at 2am
after a nightmare session that left me too rattled to sleep
that orange shirt who attends these loud rock concerts that he doesn’t necessarily enjoy simply to watch me be happy
that awful orange shirt that has seen me sad and happy and everything in between.
you know seeing that orange shirt for nearly every day of my life
has conditioned me 
and truly i hate it, the dustiness, the rustiness of it all. 
it’s disgusting, appalling and above all terrible. 
but for some godforsaken reason i also love it. 
i love it with my entire heart,
i truly love that stupid orange shirt for all of its awfulness
and logically i know it's not the shirt but the person inside.
because my dad is one of the most amazing people
i know and i hate to admit
but that color has grown on me, because of him
it's become home to me, 
it's my dad.
and maybe i'll never figure out why 
my dad loves his college football team so much 
maybe i don't need to 
what i know is that while burnt orange may be a truly terrible color, 
it's become home to me.

Skimming down the road,
Fingers embraced by the passing wind,
Trying to race to the western promises.

Passing into lands previously untravelled,
Towards the glow emenating from those golden opportunities,
Almost as if taking flight towards the stark blue horizon.

Not long to go,
Just a push and a plunge,
A great fall to the left on the map.

In search of a better future,
As great plains are traversed,
The beacon of answers to great questions lay ahead.

Skimming down the road,
Fingers embraced by the passing wind,
Trying to outrace the eastern storm.

Lessons in the trunk,
A case of tenacity in the passenger seat,
Goals hogging the back seat.

The wind tussling hair as it passes,
A gentle greeting as the countryside opens up,
The air clearer with every mile.

Everything seeming sharper,
Like a previously unknown haze being pulled from the eyes,
Colors vibrant and new.

Skimming down the road,
Fingers embraced by the passing wind,
Chasing the setting sun and running from the night.

that the world was ending
there were explosions in the sky and everyone was feantic
but me
very unlike me
to be afraid of death
was afraid.

for years
i have tempted death
whispered him sweet nothings
flirting
but in my dream
i seemed to want nothing to do with him.

in my dream
i was frustrated that the world was ending at a time i thought unsuitable
because i was happy,
fulfilled.
i find this funny because
for years
i have wished the world to implode around me
for everything to cease to exist
sixteen days.
a dream about the world ending
i’m told represents a major transition
or life changing event.
your life, as you currently know it, coming to an end.
maybe these years
of tempting death and cursing the world
are coming to an end.

And now the heavens have opened with a wonderous explosion,
The universe has awoken and I felt it crash into me.
A tremendous force of dangerously raw emotion,
The culmination of all things, the entirities of entirety.

To seek common needs no more and for more and more I have no need,
My eyes are firmly shut to selfish reprise, and from the conditions of meaningless deeds for senseless greed I am freed.

No more fake.

I’m awake!


I am Jimmy.

Hollow
like a dying tree
alone in the forest where its brethren stand tall and strong
the sun peeking through their canopies of green
casting their shadows onto its blistering bark
cold, dark, rotten
past its prime and waiting for the end

but nestled in that tree is a nest
and inside that nest three bright blue eggs rest
patiently waiting to hatch

I read you the children's storybooks that your parents sold
and buy you marbles like your old collection
(that one day was no longer there) and
we will sit craning our necks, healing our hearts

we can do arts and crafts projects
(and this time they will be hung up on the fridge)
and I'll double check your room for monsters
and your music box for pills

you have been compressed, ashamedly
for far too long
scoffed at and eyes rolled
if heads do

you are free now, protected and proud
you are safe and sound
join hands, and know that
these new planes of vulnerability keep you strong.

Our first date involved you shoving your tongue down my throat and i don’t know if it’s because you couldn’t get enough of me or you couldn't get rid of the taste of her.

Farewell good day,
Into thy cold night I must go.
Though my heart aches for thee to stay,
My worlds end is all but at embers glow.

Good day! You leave me with such haste,
Why leave me at all?
Perhaps thou can stay and waste,
A little more time, and make mine the exception to thine rule.

Oh good day, I have only celebrated thy beauty on 15 occasions.
I am yet to know Love! Or lovers Temptations.

Forgive me good day, I do not mean to despair.
I shall trust in thy eternity, my short life I surrender to thy care.

Thank you good day, ‘twas good indeed.
Good night to thee good day,
Thou now sleep and unto thee my soul is freed.

———
The good day can be all too short for the young,
The cruel night cometh too early for some.

I am Jimmy.