Don't remember me for what I ain't
When death decides to still my aching heart;
Don't picture me as if I were a saint,
Or treat me diff'rently when I depart.

Recall the good, but don't forget the bad,
And remember that you loved me all the same;
Remember that I sometimes drove you mad,
Or that –sometimes– I was the one to blame.

Don't make me out to be some perfect person,
What never made an error, great or small,
Or else you'll be rememberin' a version
Of me that never existed at all.

the dusty old school rock cds on the cracked cubby top
brush it off, but some still remains
coughing a bit up before setting it down to reminisce
it all reminds me of
the way the Polaroid camera snapped the life outta me
how every word you said was so heavy that i started sinking
how we were headbanging for kicks and started becoming wild creatures
how the radio cringed and squealed and how we still sang every word to “Pour Some Sugar on Me.”
how the guitar riffs are just pain coming out into art
bursting with meaning and passion

the dusty old school rock cds sit there, stationary on that same cracked cubby top
and we recall the past as if it was some life-changing yesterday

I'm just trying to understand, what I am to you...
more than songs we've exchanged.. midnight calls..

The way I have dealt with my traumas
Has varied.
They have moved as swiftly
As the seasons change,
And have always adapted to the current climate in which I live.

For a short while, I could pretend as though
Nothing happened.
I could pretend as though my pain was as
Invisible as their ability to love me,
And that I was as unaffected as
An old oak that has weathered storms past.

Then came my acceptance, and my fight.
I fought.
Hard.
To be seen, and heard, and believed.
But alas, this was not to be.
It was then I learned, that sometimes silence is what is needed
To weather a great storm.

Then came the talking.
With endless cups of coffee,
And whistles that glowed in the dark,
I learned what it truly meant to share my pain
With one that would not tell my secrets.
Who could not tell of the demons dancing throughout my head.
To truly learn that trust can
Also weather a great storm.

Finally, has come nothingness.
I try, desperately to forget the remaining threads that
Tether me to my memories,
Even when I still can’t sleep with my back away from a wall.
It is not a time I wouldn’t be keen to forget.
There is no storm worth remembering to weather.

There is no storm worth remembering.

I stand upon a familiar shore,
of white sands and ocean waves,
looked upon so many years before,
you and I joined as true loves slaves.

Salten sea breeze fresh upon my face,
casting mist and haze like some dream,
where I see that other time in this place,
bound forever, or so it then did seem.

In this place I now stand so all alone.
as if drawn across rolling dark water,
to calmer days once warmly known,
before love like tide ebbed unto it's slaughter.

Days when loneliness was an unknown.
where sun was warm, and seas were still,
before any storm squall gales had blown,
or wave and wind wrought it's winters chill.

You alone were there to share my time,
I recall beauties smile upon your face,
beauty before tears performed their crime,
it was you that made this a perfect place.

But this sand now beneath my feet,
leads nowhere I would wish to go.
My memories now of loves defeat,
in a time my heart still longs to know.

Sand worn away and faded coastal dreams,
waves roll and ebb high upon the shore,
eroded memories by times cold extremes,
Never to know the beach as in those years before.

Remember that night?
The soft glow of the tv reflecting blue on the walls
Our tongues dancing to the music
That played in the background
I had you pinned the wrong way round on the bed
Your head between my arms
Every part of us touching
I could feel the heat on your skin
The melody of your heartbeat
You tasted like the cherry sucker I gave you
An hour before
Oh, how I used to drown in your melancholy

Yet now all I feel is water
Little drops from the shower
While I stare at what never was
The music of your breathing still plays in my ears
When the night is quiet enough
Sometimes I swear I still feel your skin
But the moment passes and I’m left with this cold sort of feeling
An empty swell in my chest
A tingle behind my eyes
You are nothing but dull memories now
Nothing but a thought of remembrance

A piqued sweater
A constant reminder of a snag in the design.
A moment unexpected.
A pull too strong for comfort,
but not so strong to tear the fabric
away from its intended purpose.  
Leaving less of a mark of the memory
and more of a reminder of what could be.
A warning of frivolity and reckless abandon,
or at least the consequences of such.
Not unrepairable. Not to be discarded.
Simply to be well-worn.
To be cautious of being caught.
To be lived in arms crossed, if need be.
To live in the present,
afraid of the future, or something akin,
and aware of the past. Unfading.
Aware of the thread so easily tugged
into the pattern of unraveling.

I stand upon a familiar shore,
of white sands and ocean waves,
looked upon so many years before.

Salten sea breeze fresh upon my face,
casting mist and haze like some dream,
where I see that other time in this place.

In this place I now stand so all alone.
as if drawn across rolling dark waters,
to calmer days once warmly known.

Days when loneliness was an unknown.
where sun was warm and seas were still,
so long before any storms had blown.

I recall your smile there upon your face,
and you were there to share my time,
it was you that made this a perfect place.

But this sand now beneath my feet,
leads nowhere I would wish to go.
My only memory now of  loves defeat.

Waves roll and ebb high upon the shore,
sand worn away and faded coastal dreams,
the remains of the beach,
that was ours before.