Forever in Almost

I read a poem applauding your second love
for teaching you that love still exists
after being broken, but what if your second love
is the same as your first, but not the same at all?

The same arms hold me, but they feel new.
Like when the bus is pulling away but stops
to let you on or when the light turns yellow
with just enough time for you to slip through
or when you catch the door before it closes
or when you drop something  
and catch it in time.

We lost each other like missed exits that keep driving
but found ourselves and now we know all
we have to lose. Dancing with the words we
only danced around before like a spinning top,
one wrong breath could end it.
How can something so fragile not be beautiful?

To have the person who broke you be the person
to reintroduce you to 3am’s,
drives with no destination,
street hugs covered in darkness,
and brown eyes being beautiful.

But he didn’t break me. I broke
by telling myself I loved him when really,
he was the first person I wanted
to love and be loved back by
but I’ve learned that’s not always how it works.
Sometimes you miss each other
like points plotted on the same grid
but not the same spot or parallel lines
that just run side-by-side.

Because, sometimes the bus leaves,
the light turns red,
the door closes,
and you can’t
catch it in time.
Almost there,
but never doing
what it takes
to be there.

So we’ll live together forever
in what we have built and left,
in what could have been,
in what almost was,
and what a beautiful
thing that is.

I am quiet in front of the ambient lights.
Confronted among these Ambien nights,
with alluvial life, a hot bed of technical idolatry-
It is hard in the valley of the sun
the people who over-extend
self, carry impotence and
a loaded gun-
The land of geriatrics filled with frolicking snowbirds
who cast out their alcoholic offspring
to grind under gears of the economic machine.
Modern man is genuflecting in the sanctimonious pantheon of self.

I think a lot about calling out sick.
Not so much for a cold, or an upset stomach
Not even a broken bone, no
I wish I could call out sick and say
"Hey, boss, I'm sorry, I can't come in today
I'm hallucinating  that the foliating leaves
Are leaves burning our world to the ground
I can't go outside or I'll burn"
And then he'd say to me
"Yeah, Mikey, no problem, hopefully someone puts those fires out for ya"
And I'd close all my blinds and keep all my lights off and hide under my blanket
And it would be okay
Or maybe I'd call in and say
"There are toxic germs slithering and trying to slide their way into my pores"
To which he'd tell me "We've all been there, take care of that ****, man"
And I'd spend four hours racking up my hot water bill in a boiling hot shower
That feels more like if I'd gone outside and felt the burning leaves land on my body
Or maybe I'd say to him
"Every single nightmare and demon from my past is screaming in my head
So loudly that I cannot hear a single thing in this room,
I don't even hear myself speaking to you right now, sir"
To which, I have no idea what he'd have be cause I couldn't hear it
But realistically, I would lose my job so fast, that,
Much like in a cartoon, when they run and kick up a dust cloud behind them
You'd see nothing that was there before, just the smoke
But tell me, if so many people call out sick because they decided to drink their demons away
Why can't I call in sick because of my demons?
Why is a hangover a good enough reason to call out
But locking yourself away from any and all pill bottles or sharp objects
Because you're too depressed to roll over and kiss your girlfriend goodbye
Before she leaves for work not good enough?
Why are we afraid to talk about mental illness, but Ben Affleck's divorce is all over magazine covers?
Why do we try to cover up what is very clearly a very real problem in this country
No, instead we talk about Caitlyn Jenner
Instead, we talk about Jennifer Lawrence, and her leaked naked pictures
Instead, we have passionate debates about the color of a dress
But we can't admit that the voices in our heads, or the panic in our hearts, or the depression in our souls, or the spinning in our minds, or the screaming in our ears are real
The only thing worse than feeling all of this
Is being too ashamed or too afraind to talk about it
We bury it like it's any old newspaper
When we should treat it like our mortgage papers
Or our tax refunds
We must stop shaming, or this generation is gonna be dead before they even get a chance
Yeah, I think a lot about calling out sick
And saying "I apparently spent all night on the bathroom floor having a panic
Because I woke up here with no memory, and my head is spinning and my body aches
My hands can't move from the stiffness of slamming them into the floor all night
My eye is swollen shut from when I fell to the floor and smacked it off the sink"
And he'd tell me "Put some ice on that ****, Mikey. I'll see ya tomorrow."

over you: easy
getting over myself is
another story.

I use to be so young and free.
Till Uncle Sam got a hold of me.
He made me a lean, mean, killing machine.
So I could be shipped off to war.
To protect where the eagles soar.
I did my tours.
Thinking nothing more.
Till night when all I see is war.
I use to be so young and free.
Please help me rid this PTSD

i don't watch home movies
hate them
reason being because
when i was young
i was looking for a movie
my mother
had recorded for me
and accidentally
put one in the vcr
that i'm not sure
i was supposed to see
i know the obvious response
"uh oh, ****"
sorry to disappoint
they were only marked with dates
  1991
on live television
montel williams asks my father
"how can you just throw
your child away like a piece of trash?"
   1994
i spend so much time
in the emergency room
that my parents stop
penciling in growth marks
on the frame
of my bedroom door
i always thought
it was because they believed
i would never grow out
of this sickness
sometimes i believe
the reason that they
never bought me a dream catcher
was because they never thought
i'd live long enough
to see them come true
   1996
i am eliminated
from a spelling bee
because i didn't know
the 'dad' is silent in 'family'
   2013
before i got into poetry
i used to do standup
none of my jokes were funny
one of the other comics
tells me my skits are dry
sometimes sad
he says "why don't you joke
about something like your family?"
so i say
"i never wore any sunblock
because i didn't want anything
to keep me from my father"
i say "what do you call christmas
without lights or heat?"
before he has a chance
to answer
i say "1997. better yet
why don't you
make like a dad and
leave"
   2014
every time we drive
past the hospital
my mother reminds me
how much it cost to save my life
like she'd rather
have her money back
she doesn't have to say
that sometimes she wishes
it was me who had died
instead of my brother
i can hear it in the way
she says "love you"
sometimes i imagine
that if i were to die
that she
would pick out a casket for a child
because she never loved
the person i became
yesterday i told my father
how close i'd been
to suicide lately
and he said
"that's my boy,
livin on the edge.."
and i can't remember
if i laughed
or cried