Names are funny.

Have you ever wondered what your name would be if your parents didn't name you?

I'm one of the lucky few
that know.

If my parents didn't name me,
my name would be
Timothy.

You see, apparently,
when two people love each other,
Mommy cheats on Donny
with daddy and all three
demonize the baby.

Unfortunately,
abortion isn't an option.
Poor Donny believes
his little Johnson
made a tiny Willie
but really
it's Mike's Rick.
The trick wasn't revealed
until
Donny signed the birth certificate.

Obviously, Karen's husband abandoned their family.
Mike ripped his love from her and gave it to Dominique.

Karen,
twice-scorned,
mid-divorce,
postpartum,
decides a shelter isn't suitable for a nameless infant.

At this point, it's a little too late for abortion.
Nowhere to go,
knowing she can't stay,
Adoption became the practical option.


The noxious auction caused a nauseous reaction to her conscious. Karen picked the option, least pompus, with the most promise. An intuitively honest Christian was brought to her room so she could sign the synopsis.


As she's reviewing the terms of this blood oath, she glances at both of the parents cradling her second baby boy. They turn and ask


"What is his name?"

"I don't know. I thought he was going to be a she so I had the name Sade."


"That's ok, we have a perfect name in mind. Timothy."

Hold on.
I have to clean this up.
I don't want your soles to get cut up by my lack of ambidexterity.
I'm right-handed but I thought I'd try this out with my left
And I'm not as deft with it, especially in the moment, but I thought I'd give it a shot anyway.

It's my fault... I don't know how to juggle.

I'm usually good with rotation but
between the dilation of my eyes and the inflation of my ego,
the sensation of being flippant left me in a painted tuxedo

And it's raining...It's been raining.

I'm not complaining but the paint
is running and bleeding; An apotheosis of Leonid Afremov
needing emotional content to prove I exist.

*I don't mean to be like this. I don't want to be like this.

It was a gathering where emotions murmured
into an answering call for devotion.
Where locked gazes and dilated pupils
mirrored the endless churning of the sea.
The sensation of their very presence
was an euphoric dance that was devised
by the most magnificent of choreographers.
The purpose of this meeting was simple;
It was to be a discussion of plans.
It turned into a
blueprint for the future.
It was your kiss
It was my rapture.

Simple things
to say bonding
two people.
two beings
between
two letters
H and I
Parallel
to their eyes

People always show their true intentions
if you pay attention.

Yes.
I know.
It is irrational for me to think like this.
I poke holes, second guess
and jackhammer at my own foundation.
But, you see, I do care even when
I come off as crass or I dishearten
your image of me.

I
Just
Can't
Stop
Myself

These destructive feelings
and urges towards relationships
are deep rooted in a fear
of abandonment.
I'm a battered man.
Batting below average.
Yet, every chance I get
I bunt or try to get hit
because that's more comfortable to me
Than swinging and missing.

But I do care. I really just don't know how to show it.
I hold on too long to brief moments
that seem to pass from memories
as if I stole them. I'm just nostalgic.
It's the little things that are big to me
and the silly stuff that resonates profoundly.

I do understand though.
The burden of my depression
rests solely on my shoulders.
It's not something I can brush off or
roll over. I just hope that you all
bear with me as I tunnel my way
out of this insanity.

Who ever knew
my best friend
would be a pen?