i used to send you memes,
it's no longer a habit of my day.
i realized i haven't sent any in a while,
i miss our old ways.

She was like music,
and I longed to dance.

Her heart was the beat,
and I begged for the chance.

Her words were the vocals,
and I was put in a trance.

Her smile was the melody,
and I fell in love at first glance.

I want to be available
to the people who love me.
I want to be there
emotionally, physically, financially.
I want to be their shoulder
their crutch, their solace.
The person who does not drop anything.
I want to give the feeling
of lightness to every being walking this earth.
Every human, creature, and plant
as they grow up fast.
I want to be nutrition,
a steadfast superhuman
so unfazed, so cool-headed.

It infuriates me
that I'm not this person.
It should be so easy to give.
If I just get my **** together,
I've repeated on and off again
the last five years.
But somehow, I always manage
to waste enough time
to get there,
but late.
When I have nothing
left, a hollow person
someone gave too
many tries.

Still, the people I love
tell me I'm wise,
an angel body.
Like they must justify,
who I am,
the imposter
the transient,
always planning,
for when she can
run away again.

my brother does this thing where he siphons the stories from someone. Usually old people because they have the best stories

I drive through the old homestead – the fog of my emotions

Have of my memories

My father does this thing where he holds his little hands at his waist, twisting them inside one another

We are three generations eating dominoes pizza

Defined by death and divorce – not there and not existing yet
My grandfather is 90. He is stories made flesh and my brother pulls at them like a rope from a,

Well,

Because he has discovered the census data for Ham Lake from 1940

My grandfather tells stories of the missing generation

His father – can’t work because he’s a welfare brat

His mother died young

Stepmother an angel – gave him socks when his father was crying because they cut him off

My father – tells underbreath mumbles of lost arguments and lost respect – he gives me socks for Christmas

Father drank a lot. You get to pick who I’m talking about. Maybe alcoholism skips a generation. If so I fear for my children.

Grandpa joined the navy. His father got a job – everyday worked it through sickness and in health – a marriage of money and mind because the paycheck meant freedom and freedom meant everything

He finds his dad at work – navy uniform coated in the expectations of his brothers.

“So you went and did it.”

The story kind of trails off there, the way old people stories do. Kind of like young person poems

I helped my dad set up the TV we got him for Christmas

Because he never used the guitar center gift card from last year.

Its been so long....
I already cant see your face
We shared a name
You were a partner in crime
And i never snitched
Never disrepected
And u did the same
Ill always miss you
And the times we had
Shootin the ****
Damon....
if i let this part of my life go....
how long until you're just another faded memory
How long before my brain turns dementia on our memories
And i forget everything...

It makes me anxious
How much I care about you
You've got hold of me