we’ll get through this
because we always get through this
again and again and again
we’re reminded
this too shall pass
and the very existence of humanity
could hang on a thread
and all we can repeat
again and again and again
is this too shall pass
this too shall pass
this too shall pass

it doesn’t feel like we're a not together
and that is saddest part of all: that
neither of us wanted this but both of
us needed this and if it hadn’t happened
god knows where we’d be today but
it’s still sad sometimes to think about
her and not feel distant but knowing
that a distance greater than any
physical measurement separates us
now forever

it’s a quiet acceptance,
knowing fully that rest is not
yet for you

though the muscles are clay
the mind sand

you are not angry
that quitting time is not
near

it is after this,

after the struggle against it
has faded
and the desperation
to get out has long
gone,

that you
can continue to
march on

endlessly,
if you so choose.

there is a beautiful
poem hiding behind
the little spaces in
my mind

the words are in there,
not out there, and some
how, I need to coax
them out

but I don’t know what
they’re like; they hide
so well I can’t even
describe their shadow

so it might be a dog,
who wants thoughts
on anger, and hate,
and frustration

or it might be a horse,
beckoning me to be
free and run wild

or it might be a man,
or it might be a woman,
or it might be a whale,
or a cat,
or a bird,
or a car,
or it might be a
dog

so I throw out everything,
dog-treats like remembering
how I’ve been ******* over,
and cat-nip like the last time
I snuggled up with an old
love,
and human sweets, like poems
that display the worst possible
existence any person could
have (and how I have it)

these words,
hiding somewhere
in this big ol’
mind:

come out,
come out to play,
I need you boy,
I need you back,
you know it.

oh is that’s what you are?
oh ok,
maybe I’ll go chase
another animal,
your inspiration
isn’t any
good

You view the world from your prison's lone window
not knowing that your cell is unlocked.
You spend all your days collecting those rays
not caring how often you're mocked.
You waste all your hours counting the flowers
waiting for the clock's final tock.
If only you knew how you're like a shrew
you could easily come out of that box.