I don't remember when the turning point was
But finally the anger inside of me degraded and only pieces were left
In the second half of summer I began to write again
But I made my room a tomb
A mausoleum built not to keep me inside but to prevent myself from making this mess worse
It was this half of summer that I realized that it was all doomed to happen from the start
It had been years since we both fell in love
And in the time between we grew
We both had boarded trains going different directions
And instead of accepting that fact we tried to put both trains on the same track
Why were we so surprised when the trains collided?

In this half of summer I knew that what happened was more of my fault than anyone else's
These are the kinds of things that happen when you turn a blind eye to reality and instead only saw the dreams in my head
These truths made me feel no better than before
The bitterness was still there and I reached its epicenter one night in San Antonio
San Antonio where I realized the weight I had gained and where I knew I wanted leave all thoughts of you behind

We stopped talking
It was the best decision I had made for months
And in this time I felt both forgiveness and regret begin to grow
The darkest parts were over yet I decided to close myself off to others

In this time did I forget beauty?
Did I ignore love?
No
Instead I turned the love I had for you into steam energy and saw again the beauty in the world around me
I took the love of one beating heart and extended it to every beating heart within radius
This is how I found healing
And this is how I realized that the pain I felt had become less heartbreak and more ego
I decided to gather as much as that ego I could to burn it and spread the ashes

I have said before
We are products of our past
The two halves of summer were nothing more than individual tracks leading my train farther down the line
Destination: anywhere
Any homes of love, beauty, or any other arbitrary human word for the holy things
Summers end was a flash of blinding light and I travel forward new
Less born again
More never having truly died

The tone of my summer was set three days before it began
As I look back now it's as if I am looking into the mouth of a long forgotten cavern
On that day I got the message
A message that I knew was in front of me the whole time like a snake whose venom had already seeped through my skin
But now the message was tangible
Sent to me by a friend
A screenshot from your private Twitter you wouldn't let me follow
What it said was unimportant
What it confirmed was something I should have known all along but made myself blind to in order to keep up the illusion that we weren't falling apart
Yet the truth was that for a month now we were the farthest apart we had ever been

You said it wasn't cheating because we weren't "technically together"
You had said a break was what you needed
And I wouldn't have been suspicious if that hadn't just come up the day after you kissed him at some drunken madhouse party
And if you don't call it cheating what was the point of lying to my face and sneaking out at night?
I went to your house in a moment of foolish desperation and you lied while looking into my eyes
The truth would have been easier

Summer came nonetheless and I begged you to explain yourself and be honest about what had happened
You refused to say a **** word and honestly that hurt more than the actions you took
It's been 8 months now and I still don't know what happened

The first half of summer was madness and bitter anger
Over 19 years I had built a reservoir of raw emotion and when the dam finally broke it was from a hole no bigger than a pinprick
Yeah I acted like a child
I admit that what I did was wrong but at the time it felt nothing but appropriate
Half of summer I brewed in a disgust that only ever bordered on hatred
And I never left you alone like I should have
I wanted to dig myself a hole all the way down to the burning magma with no intention of dying but rather a grave deep enough to bury my bitterness

Half of summer I wanted to hate you
I couldn't
The first half of summer closed as a chapter of utter frustration and complete denial of who I thought we both were
In the end I cared less about the relationship but rather the seven year friendship that was ruined for a guy you talked to for no more than a month
The first half soon ended and the next began

She said her name was Sky
Or at least that is what I think she said
When we were asked to turn to those around us
And to shake hands and say good morning
I thought it was a beautiful name
And I have thought of it since Sunday

I saw her first when I walked in the door
She wasn't the first face I saw
But she is the first face I remember
Now that isn't entirely true
Because if I was asked today to pick her out of a crowd I may not be able to
I am a nervous man at times
I did not stare at her
I didn't even look long enough to take in the intricacies of her identity
We made eye contact
I nodded in greeting as I always do and continued walking
I can remember the coat she wore was purple
And I didn't know she would sit two seats down from me
And I didn't know I would become entranced by the thought of her

I fear that I fall more in love with the idea of a stranger
Than I would once I know them
I feel that I am a dreamer at times
Though I would never admit it
I know however I won't die lonely
Though not without its bite,
Lonliness isn't that strong to me
I don't think much of it

She said her name was Sky
And in my nervousness I only said
Good morning
And I hope I see her again

11:42
I should honestly be asleep now
But instead I lay here and listen
To October winds
Blowing through my neighborhood

Yes it is October now
It never started feeling like summer to me
Now why am I so surprised it's gone?

But honestly October
What is it about you
That made Jack fall in love with you
That makes the kids of my generation
Manic
And ranting
Pumpkin crazed
October winds are peaceful not spooky

When you asked me to write you a poem
I was afraid about what I would say
(I still am)
It hasn't even been a year since
I disappointed you
I try not to think of such things
But my life is full of many moments
I let people I care about down

You have done a lot of traveling
Since we first met in that coffee shop
Where all my good memories were made
The coffee shop has since left
And now the whole building reeks of emptiness and what once was
It depresses me to go back

You have seen so much more of the world than I have
California is only a name on a map to me
But you made friends there and in that state you grew to who you have become

And oh you have felt more than I
I lock up my emotions in a faux stoicism
I don't like talking about my feelings
But I haven't lived the life you have
Oh the people you have lost and the things that have happened
I can't imagine what you lay awake at night contemplating as I lay and think of such trivial things

I wish we could both go back
Valentine's Day
2012
I was never mad at you
I understand why you never came
It wouldn't have changed who you are to me

I wish we could go back
To the fall of last year
I wouldn't have taken the path I did
I wouldn't have alienated you
For the sake of her
Or anyone else

You have been there for me
Countless occasions
And I have created this debt to you
I wish to pay
But I am unable

Now we don't talk as much
And when we do it lacks what it once had
And I know it's my fault
I know what I did was wrong
But I'm glad you haven't given up
And you haven't forgotten
And I have never doubted that you have cared about me
And I hope we stay close
For as long as we are alive

I often write my poems too fast
And the emotion gets passed by
In a rush to be finished
I gotta remember
I'm not Jack
I can't write on a continuous scroll
In a Benzedrine blur

I wish I could read my poems
With a jazz backing band
I keep a terrible rhythm alone
And when I'm in my car
Listening to Thelonious Monk,
The Jazz King of my heart,
My voice has this growl of feeling
But when I'm on that stage
With the mic staring back at me
I hesitate
It doesn't come out right
It doesn't sound like I rehearsed it
In my bed late at night
Or on those countless car trips

Oh I wish I could take that car
Gun it down an empty highway
Windows down
Air rushing in
And the Miles Davis trumpet
Screaming for me to go
Go
Go

I want to write about more
Than just how I'm feeling
My hero Woody Guthrie said
"All you can write
Is what you see"
But I've spent too much time
Looking in the mirror
When I should be looking out the window
But the window reveals my reflection all the same
I can never truly escape my self
But still I write

I know they are in me
The true holy poems
And maybe they won't be howling
And maybe they will never have been to Chicago
And maybe they don't know any Rimbaud or Garcia Lorca
And maybe they can't sing the blues
But when it is all said and done
No matter what they are
They're all I've got
And you can never hate something like that

Whether we like it or not
We are a product of our memories
Our past
But the memories only have the power
That we give them
This poem would have been about
Desperation
Disappointment
Fear
Loathing
But as I sat and looked at the words already birthed unto the page
I didn't know where I wanted to take it
And in that moment of blessed and holy realization I knew immediately that wasn't the poem I wanted to write
Loathing had its time
Fear was an anchor only attached by a narrow thread
Disappointment was a lie to myself
And I felt no more desperate at this moment than I did when a million other horrible moments were conceived by my mind and cemented in my heart and ultimately made me
I am the direct consequence of my circumstance
And I wish it to be no other way
Failure is only but a new way of finding a path
The true path
I do not walk blindly
My stumbles are a part of my stride
This poem would have been about sadness
But I realized the sadness wasn't me after all

I can promise you that
I rarely cry at photographs
This is very new to me
But these tears are true
Just as your photos are true
Your photos are the true America
Thousands of photos
Of lives you only knew
I want to cover my house with your work
I want to imprint your photos inside my eyelids
So my dreams are filled with
The magnificent contrast
Beautiful simplicity
The truth shown through your eyes and the eyes of your camera, held at navel level, as you look into the eyes of your subject
What true art you have made!
Art rarely seen
Until after you passed
I wished I could meet you
A true beautiful soul
Why do all the beautiful souls leave me here?
Your pictures of the poor enlighten me
Your scenery inspires me
I can almost hear your faux French accent

You worked as a nanny
And you hid yourself
With fake names
Always a secret
You locked the doors behind you
For years your art was locked in boxes
Boxes and boxes
And photos of dead horses
Crying children
Extreme human conditions
Photos of trashcans
All was art
You could truly see it couldn't you?
You could see the truth
Of which I wish to write

I hope you were happy
Or at least content
I hope the nights weren't too dark
I hope you are glad to hear
The world loves what you have done
I thank you
We all thank you
And I wish you well