i'm not trying to
write something good
i'm trying to write something
for myself

something to remind me
i'm still alive
breathing feeling
existing in this world

to be honest
i don't know why i'm trying
it's like i've been away
from myself too long

i'd like to go back to
maryland for another weekend
your hand in mine
a long walk in the dark
for an overpriced dinner
but i still remember that
cup of bisque
how the inlet stank
creeping through deserted
pitch black parking lots
the late night fishermen
set up on the overpass
sunburned legs
boardwalk taffy

i'd go back through
williamsburg
winding roads through
the historic district
to the red roof inn
maybe a little drunk
a little young and a
little dumb
i can't recall why
we didn't just take
the car but i sure
don't regret the walk

guess i just miss the
sense of peace
in my gut
so foreign to me

i have this feeling that
life is about to change
drastically
significantly
and i'm not scared
just a little nostalgic

it doesn’t matter
to anyone else
but i’ll always remember
the way the ocean looked
under the bridgeway
apple fritter for breakfast

i’m scared
of growing up
how pathetic when
i’m literally an adult

fuzzy socks
pulled up to my knees
my favorite t-shirt
the blue pokemon one
so old that polywhirl has
completely worn off
i’m going to sleep tonight
like every other night
with my stuffed wolf and
your arms around me

tomorrow i’ll get up
go to work
get the things done that
i didn’t do last week
you’ll pick me up at 3:30
and let me in the driver’s side
i’ll check the mirrors
and white knuckle my way
up the hill to the dentist office
where i’ll be reminded that
my genetics are against me and
i need to wear my retainer more

(i get reminded of the
genetics part enough
every time a holiday
or disagreement rolls around)

i don’t want to be famous
i don’t even want to be rich
i just want to make enough
money that i can afford therapy

because i could write three
poems a day and i don’t know
if i’d ever get to the bottom of it all
i think i’ve started to make
some sense of it and then
something will remind me that i don’t

like the other night at the bar
when i recounted something
i’m almost sure i must have
mentioned to you before

but i must have been mistaken
because you set down your drink
and looked at me and said
“that’s really ****** up
that she would ever say that
i’m sorry that happened to you”

so it’s safe to say that
ignoring it isn’t making it
go away and thinking
about it is only making me miserable
so i guess all that’s left to do
is write about it

and there’s not much to do with
pages and pages of your own
thoughts so i guess i’ll just
keep it to myself for now

but i’m not trying to write
something good i’m trying
to write something
for myself