I’ve started sharing my poetry,
and I think I’ve concerned a few—
friends, family—
they didn’t see the blue, blue, blue
sadness
that sits quietly in my lingering,
spilling out in these poems.

It was never my goal,
but the sadness likes to speak,
wants to say what is true:
that the sadness still exists,
a deep, deep
blue, blue, blue.

falling
falling
falling
streaming song of rain
drop the ups
up
the downs
drown the sounds



the rocks are the clocks


stream the dream


(I could write the drops in but I thought you'd like to hear them yourself)

How can I become bigger than my pain?

I am not talented
And I refuse to believe that
I am
I realize this might be a shock, but
Talented,
Is a lie
I am not good enough
In 30 years, I will tell my children that
I have my priorities straight because
Perfect
Is more important than
Trying
I tell you this:
Once upon a time
I tried my best
But this will not be true in my era
Perfect is right
Experts tell me
Perfect is better than trying
I do not conclude that
Trying is more important
In the future,
I will be better than no one
No longer can it be said that
I have talent
It will be evident that
I will never be correct
It is foolish to presume that
I am talented
And all of this will come true unless we reverse it

Before I met my wife
I was incomplete
Now I'm finished.