early morning heavy bag with nothing else but hopeful
they said theyd be there soon
you say youll be there later
catan at engineering noon
was bittersweet flavored

water in the kettle
barely touched the mech on the table
last day tears in the after shelter mental
i was in the ceramics studio when you arrived when it all came together
rivers of slip and clay and dip and dip and swing

keeping printing lately squinting
we helped to bring the paper
you disappeared concerning feared
but just for shoes in your backseat

sparkled nails on the church's floor
behind the curtain essay typin
ping pong flyin wild story improv timin
next to those shoes scrollin and the topic was ace
so i dont know if its my place
but
as we left the lack of open doors was odd/
so then came back to the front lawn of god to give you a plastic bag of support
keepin rapport in some way of some sort
gracious hospitality that it wasnt raining
though when we were waiting there were trains and there was dogs/
but soon hes gone and hugged and loved

and now im in the front seat;
and then im in the drivers.

back window fogged, behind the wheel with you beside me reel and keel my necks still sore two days later just like my brain that needs a stapler
because i couldnt look at you
im scared of being fake but then/
music's meant to sing
i went to bed at 1 am
i dont regret a thing

ah.
its been a minute
been around the block with my train ticket
travelin wicked fast with it in my hand missin all the scenery but bland cause it
not much
train dont stop for no **** but its your choice to go sit
to stay put and know this that you can jump ship
itll
keep you in hold you down whisk you away
make you forget why you just woke up today
just chuggin along takin its time but speeding for fun
got you rugged but calm, just restin in some methodical thoughts it could sweep you in routines hypnotic youll not
remember the windows again hear yourself in your head but instead coast through life leaving living on read
you gotta
open the door
lean out feel the wind but keep it open for sure
the grounds whippin by but youll be just fine one step more tuck n roll,
breathe.

"How was your day?" He asks.

"Up and down," I say. "How about yours?"

He goes on to write me a paragraph about how he hit traffic on the way to work and then work was fine but he had to do some extra cleaning to make up for his coworker showing up late and then he went home and did his volunteer work and his roommate's cat did something cute.

Then he stops.

I respond to each part of his recap. I'm glad he told me and I'm happy to listen.

But I don't say "Aren't you going to ask me to elaborate?"
I don't say "I set you up to ask me again."
I don't say "Don't you care about why my day was 'up and down'?"

I don't say this because then he would ask me again.
But I don't want him to ask me again because I asked him to ask me.
I just want him to ask me.
I know he already asked me.
I don't know why, but I need him to ask me twice.

Blame it on the way I was raised.
Blame it on him not knowing how to have a conversation.
I didn't even know this was bugging me until I was writing this down.

We never have conversations.
We both just make comments and then return to silence.
He doesn't know how to ask questions
And I won't allow myself to say anything unless directly requested.

So I leave my hints and he doesn't take them.
I make my jokes, and he just chuckles like he's trying make a bad comedian feel better.

He asks me how my day was and I say it was up and down and he doesn't ask me what happened.
I know he meant that in the first question.

I don't know why I need to be asked twice.

a city made of plastic
******* with elastic
torn between a tourist trap
and locals who just want it back

i thought you cared the most
guess i held too close
you fell like sand through my fingers
i couldn't see you any clearer
loved you with all my might
guess i held too tight
i knew you'd crumble from the start
like a blade straight through my heart

when sorrow is safety and joy is fear
everything is wrong here
one fleeting moment is wrecked
just because i realized what i felt
i'm so tired of being lonely
and so scared of intimacy
i'm an open book that's terrified
scared of what you'll see inside

want to have a whole committee
but i'm not that kind of city
i'll welcome you with open arms
and then i'll sound the alarms

thirty minute play time
sixty hour scroll
fifteen times of homework
and seventy to toll

finger on a screen
lines of all thats in
shapes that have been seen
speaks of what has been

a notebook closed on table
hunched back over the board
bringing grapefruit abled
cracked knuckles to the core

touch and sense and good
twice upon the body
water held in stood
two thirds of the laundry

music in my follicles
art inside my pores
theres feeling in my eyelids
emotions in my joints
and most of every single thing there is
the thought of it conjoined

holding up a peace sign
while dodging their land mines
studying the art
of how they fight

with a journal in my left
and a pen in my right
i'm naive enough to think that war could end
but wise enough to know
that there is no hope in pretense

so i'm holding up a peace sign
along with a journal bound in leather
aware that peace signs do not mean surrender

and folks like me,
we tend to fight forever.

Life is flourishing. My tears have worked hard, to rejuvenate this life.
For the first time in years, I feel like myself again.