Yearning for some order I notice patterns in the pavement
Racing lines, creating ties, crossing T's and dotting I's
Grainy memories collide with one another as I wonder
Pondering the source of my observant sense leaving life in sunder
Beautifully benign to me, remembering the sea of color
Yellow, red, green, purple, blue
Reeling up and down and out and through
Galavanting as I grinned, lost in patterns I felt within
Perhaps I long for those times of innocent whim
But now all I see in the patterns are flaws
Yelling their inconsistencies
Rendering my blissful thoughts impossibly apart from me
Pacing mind leaving grooves behind my eyes
Partially lost in myself, watching a slow unwind
Beckoning me closer, one step at a time

Mourning doves landing,
Gentle branches— place for wings,
Hawk already there.

Boy out of order
Order a new one
One that won’t break
Breaking was easy
Easy to fix?
Fix me?
Me, the boy out of order
Order a new one
One that will work
Working well?
Well, not anymore
More repairs
Repair the boy out of order?
Order a new one
One that will make you smile
Smile, daddy’s going to buy
Buy you a new boy
Boy out of order
Out of commission
Broken, broke
Waiting, wait
For the girl with rough hands
Rough hands and hard eyes
Eyes that drill
Drilling into my body
Nobody cares
Who cares about me?
Me, the boy out of order
Order a new one
One with standard features
Features that are simple
Simply tell him what to do
Do this, do that
That the boy out of order couldn't do

The absurdity
is in the conclusion,
                                   but it's also
                                          the cliff
                  from which I jumped
From Chaos,
                      To Chaos.
                                             All that is left
                              is a futile attempt to understand
                                       the silly habit of living:
    *A constant battle between
Order          and          Disorder

I'm sorry
That I text you
At four a.m.
When
I
Can't
Breathe
Because of
Anxiety attacks.

I'm sorry that
I can't make serious phone calls
Or order at Subway
Around the corner,
Even though I know
I like thinly sliced turkey
And chipotle dressing.

I'm sorry that
I forget things like
Birthdays and middle names
And I'm sorry
That I don't know how to
Kiss.

I'm sorry
That you think
When I don't take a compliment
I'm fishing for you
To keep going,
Because in my rotting skull
That option
Isn't even possible.

I'm sorry.
So sorry.
That if you're
Nice to me
I will never
Ever
Believe you
Actually like me.