"a wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to a former time in one's life."

i miss my memories .
the ones i can remember so vividly .
back when she was my best friend ,
he was my end ,
and she was my cousin.
i miss my feelings .
not the ones that remind me
of a time not worth living .
engrossed in my sisters drowning
nightmares plagued me
because i blamed me .

i miss when everything was so effortless .
being me was a manifest
error , something that was luminous .
lighting up my world with darkness .
back when i wasn't weak .
felt indestructible, nothing could destroy me .
except maybe a heartbreak ..
or three .

i miss when i did not miss .
back when remembering "this
and that " ,
didn't mean a panic attack .
back when being happy
was a state of mind
instead of something
i wanted to be mine .
back when i wasn't afraid to connect .
before you and everyone left
and i was  like our govenment .
a little off balanced ,
without being checked .

i miss who i used to be
because i am not sure
how to be
this "after" me .

Into the past
Finding a place on a street
       with phone booths
Cell phones yet invented
         and many buildings
                with diversity
Created out of finacial necessity
Not by a forced "WOKE"agenda
We were all free to speak
Just a past memory today
           canceled by the ruthless elite
I walked unjudged and free
Finding the building with the fire escape
             as frontage
Where a dog seeks refuge upon
Only to squat and defecate
             onto the sidewaik below
Marking the address of a friend
              and his wife
Through a unlocked broken door
Up a noisey set of stairs
Through a heavly locked apartment door
I am greeted by my friend and his cats
The cats have thier places
In various locations
             with defications
Their box has not been emtied in weeks
All leaving a bitting odor
In sea of clutter
Known as chaos
In a unkept human presence
Yet we sit
In a confined human space
Speaking on numerous subjects
He has left his govenment job
Benefits and all
To become a writer
But, also a promoter of punk bands
               to pay for this exsistance
In this place and time
To end up about my poetry
As his wife looks on
In a attentive blank stare
Her ******* are huge
Intact
No restrictions
In a ******* T shirt
We are young
Leaving me to wonder
Is it my friend
Or his wife I come to visit?
I concude that I am a ******
Not a poet
In this time and place
He  hands me a pen and paper
Encouraging me to write poetry
I write with puff and beer in hand
As cover for my alternative motive
I write distracted by her
Fulfilling my friends desire
To obtain and pocess
What I write
Never to be seen by me again
But,possibly heard somewhere
In a punk rant