I've never had the most solid sense of direction.
I've this bad habit of getting lost;
first in thought and then, well,
literally.

But I've written things this whole time,
and every line is an arrow so that I can find my way back.
Back to some kind of bliss.
A state of mind that I can no longer feel,
but I know that I miss.

But isn't there a part in that story where the bread crumbs have been eaten by birds?

I can't remember.

I can't remember where or when or why, but I do remember thinking
"if only I could be like that,"
"if only I could have that kind of life,"
"if only I could behave and act in such a way that was a better reflection of my own deep down as-of-yet unfound ideal personality type,
as a better version of myself; the me I want to be but can't even imagine being:
then I'd be happy."

Come to realize that I have become that version, but just as I've changed, so has my own ideal version of what I could be (which is to say, that despite achieving vaguely recalled dreams, I'm still not happy.)

It's like running a race against yourself,
surrounded by wraiths of what you could-have/once-were/will-one-day-become running in the other lanes.
The trick is to close my/your/our eyes and meld them all together;
the key is to maintain this pace.

Every poem I ever wrote is nothing but a sticky note,
with keywords written to remind me of all but forgotten memories.

Blueprints of future eloquence
drawn up in the mind.
Manufactured moments played out in real-time.
Accidental actors
improvising memorized lines.
None can be the wiser to the grand design.
It's all for nothing if it feels too contrived.
Make sure to leave enough room for all those little
unknwons in life.

When it pans out how it shouldn't,
when just the right amount of things go wrong,
it all comes together in one incredible instant.
Profound.
Beautiful.


Gone.

There is a place that we don't like to revisit.
A topic that perpetually stays off limits,
but every now and then,
stars in space align in such a way
that cause us to relive it.

I can feel it in my bones.
I can feel it in my teeth.
Emanating from some place buried deep underneath.
I can hear it in your words.
I can taste it on your lips.
Electricity,
recharged by your kiss.
My body is a conduit.
A key tied to a kite string.
I'm thinking of every wish I've wasted on pennies never spent.
Hopes and dreams thought up then tossed.
They're all coming true tonight.
I found my way while staying lost.

Do you ever wonder about secret agents?
How they behaved when they were young?
Did they have troubled childhoods?
Were they not properly loved?
Did they have a lot of practice with resisting lust?
Did they learn the hard way that there's no one you can trust?

Do you ever wonder about rock stars,
and what makes them so rabid?
Did they recognize their own potential,
but couldn't fight those filthy habits?
All of that anger for their parents, ex-lovers, and friends.
Did they take a trip to hell only to find out that it never ends?
Did that anger actually stem from a disappointment with themselves?

And what about the lonely who never find Someone Else?
Did they all partake on a journey to find their self?
Did they hate the answer?
Did they get no results?
Did they get stuck in a tunnel then couldn't crawl their way out?
Maybe they just never found anyone who could deal with the depth of their faults.

I'm in a chrysalis stage:
still developing into an adult.
All of the mistakes I've made -
their lessons are being retained.
It's all preparation and training.
One day I'll be great.
You don't have to believe me,
but just you wait.

Clearly an absurdist.
Small stakes for what his word is worth.
The hare let the tortoise beat him accidentally on purpose.
Everyone loves a good story.
When ego is beyond everything
how can you care about fame and glory?
Victory feels silly.
Like a brand new bride without her ring.
Losing only hurts the pride if they allow themselves to feel the sting.
I am far from winning,
but farther still from admitting defeat.
When that rhythm hits me,
I'll sing along and move my feet.

A man of action,
I was,
for a series of months.
I worked my *** off and fought all of my thoughts.

A constant distraction;
that's all I want.
No matter what happens,
I cannot get lost.
Caught up in longing for what never was.

Let me be a rock,
let life wash over me.
I'll stand solid in the middle of a stream.
Feeling no feelings.
Dreaming no dreams.
And worrying not about these waters that will erode me.