It’s a new year and I quit my job **** it, I’ll never be good at serving Directionless in 2013 January. It’s unusually warm.
Your presence in the room is a rock in my shoe You’re so cool And I’m a mess. Remember, you called me Heather in bed? And I made you go home? Well. I forget.
Now we’re crossing the street For your birthday, it’s your birthday, Makers Mark, count ‘em, 2 ounces at a time. Stacked up like unread texts and why don’t you like me’s I don’t remember But I’m probably crying
Flash in to outside God it’s like 60 Deciding to go with you Asking you to kiss me
(I had a long term boyfriend in my 20s And his mother would buy me toilet paper for Christmas The gift of hindsight is kind of like that: Practical and helpful and a ****** of a gift)
Today is 9 years to the day My parents know and they’re on their way The nurse thinks I might be paralyzed 11 broken bones and two black eyes
This is the end of the beginning Which is the easy part I’ve never been able to write it all down Spin it into art
Be warned, I can’t guarantee poetry From a patched-but-still-leaking heart.
Part one of a multi (tbd) part series detailing the drunk driving accident that derailed my life in 2013 and the convoluted and ongoing recovery process.
I have attempted to process this event through a whole swath of creative means, never very successfully. It eludes me. I humbly request patience, as this is a healing exercise. Thank you so much, and may you find peace where it grows.
There is no reason, I can't know why. When we try to comprehend, our dreams just pass us by I'm just tired, I'm too old Flip through pages to find clarity:
Nothings ever meant to be.
I know I lack conviction I've got too much pride To admit the way to win this game is to never know your side
Hello old friend,
Do you see me?
I can't see me anymore can't feel me anymore
I remember summer nights and drunken fights with those who took their lives and in my dreams we've talked again like I'm talking here with you
I've heard the sound of death before, its imprinted in my soul though many a shrink has told me moving forward makes us whole. But I've seen death before heard him knocking at my door and I've lost both friends and enemies to his voice that haunts my dreams.
Maybe this imprint is a reminder An echo of a life. The pain that I hold onto to keep memories alive. I pray on my final day my mind can find its peace and let go of this sound I know before letting go of me.
I'll let go of the sound I know. Before letting go of me.