I gathered up the last
of her today
and
put it in
a box

her dress,
her apron,
her robe,
her jacket

that’s all that’s left of her
that’s what’s left of our
love

the box sits now
watching
sternly sending
me a simple
message

you will face me

you will put an end
to this

and it waits for me
to take that box,
full of what’s
left of
her and I,
and go give
it back
to her

because,
in the end,
all these things belong
to her
and,
in the end,
they must eventually
be returned

so many people,
like ants,
waiting
for god’s
magnifying glass
have made me realize
how lucky I am
to ever have been happy
to ever think I may be
happy again
and
to ever realize
that life
is something
that with a
quick mind
and
little luck
I just
might
be
able
to conquer it
at last

I think I let it go today

there was an agony
living under my skin
and whatever it was
whatever creature
lurked just
beneath
prying at my heart
and devouring my mind
is gone now
and
I hope
will
not return

I think I let the pain go
today

though there was no one moment,
a transformation from sick to well,
I sit with myself and feel somehow:
better

I think I let it go
today

I think tomorrow is a good day
to begin again
and
maybe
I’ll do
just that

riding a rollercoaster
and losing your shoes
in the chasm below

sneaking out to a concert
and meeting your parents
there

trying new food
in a hole-in-the-wall
restaurant

picking up a guitar and
playing till your fingers
hurt

saying hi to the new kid
every day until he isn’t
new anymore

writing poetry about watching cats
or drinking soda or driving at night

watching the end of your favorite movie
and thinking of all the things you want in
the sequel

yelling till your lungs hurt
and crying till it doesn’t hurt
anymore

eating ice cream at
two in the afternoon

watching the sun set on the beach

forgetting about your uncomfortable chair
because the book your reading is just that
good

finding meaning in simple things

shaking somebody’s hand
when you know they’re proud
of you

walking around
in a new pair of
shoes

getting in a fight with a plastered guy
in a tiny theatre because he you couldn’t
hear the actors over his yelling

doing something you should never do
again and again and again

not being happy,
always

finally asking out the girl
you’ve been crazy about
for seven years

doing something stupid and
brave and messing up, big
time

listening to a song
and
feeling your heart soar

eating **** because you
****** up

rising up from pain and agony
and forgetting it, swallowing it
whole and breathing out all the
emotions that boil out

carefully holding your new-borne child

smiling

these are some moments
in a good life, not entirely
my own

may you fill your life with some of these
or fill in these pages with a few moments
of your own

I am sitting
with some good
advice tonight

we’re drinking some nice beer
and he’s trying to tell me something
but the beer is too good
and my mind is too hazy
to get what he means

something about waiting
something about not jumping too soon
something about what’s best
and what’s good doesn’t come easy
and something about me being an idiot
to even chase this in the first place

but the beer’s just too good I guess
and we’ve already drunk so much

I decide I’ll listen to him
another day

tonight I want to drink with him
till my vision goes to zero
crawl into bed in a comfortable haze
and wake up tomorrow slowly

then I will do the thing I want to
the thing this good advice is warning me
against

then I will step forward,
jump to battle,
try my luck

and if my best option
was to not even try it:

I guess I’m just not one for good advice

they looked like mangled
silver dollars

shells split into fifty pieces
arranged as the were
like a blue print
for god to try and
reassemble

there were so many
I didn’t count
but there were many,
many dead turtles
strewn
across the
road
and
as I walked along
I tried to avoid
them
but
sometimes
there were three
or four in a row
and
it was really
hard
to
avoid
them

like life,
life is hard,
hard like a turtle’s shell
cracked into fifty
pieces

a week of pain,
terror,
and fear
has yet to make
me write a
poem

last time,
I couldn’t stop

everything inspired me
everything made me
write

but now,
nothing

I sit here,
uninterested and
unfascinated
with
everything

dealing with the pain fine
and needing no outlet

an island of perfection
in a sea of needless life

I am tired
and must continue
to heal