I have missed
the complexity of this
Tag: spilled ink (Page 8 of 9)
Five hours before dawn
we hunt for our clothes in the
dim blue light of phones
If physical pain were punctuation,
it would be a question mark
searching for reasons and explanations.
Or it would be an interrobang –
frenzied alarm and insinuations.
If doubt were punctuation,
it would be an ellipses.
There is more to follow
and it may not be what you expected.
If fear were punctuation,
it would be a comma –
a run-on sentence, trying to flee
from itself and the trauma.
If peace of mind were punctuation,
it would be an apostrophe –
only noticed when it is missing,
appreciated by someone like me.
as a human
I think I’ve gotten both better and worse
I have improved
and fucked up
my flaws have multiplied
and dissipated
I don’t know anything anymore
the size of my ego
once huge
is now s k ew e d
and I don’t know how to go
one way or another.
I don’t want to stay here
midway between nothing
and nothing else.
I didn’t die today.
What, that’s my inspiration
for writing poetry today?
I’m starting to wonder if there’s
something wrong with me,
but there’s no gaping hole
where my optimism should be.
Everything is intact.
Sometimes the kindest thing I can do for myself
is repeat over and over in my head
“This is not helping this is not helping this is not helping this is not”
When does poetry turn into the demented ramblings of a mad person?
But this is helping this is helping this is helping this is
People say life’s too short
to not have fun
but it’s also too long
to not have fun
so maybe life is the perfect length.
When people say “are you okay?”
what does okay mean anyway?
Is there one definitive definition?
Okay is defined as:
“satisfactory but not especially good”.
But what I would call satisfactory might
not be satisfactory for someone else.
Is my okay your okay?
If you were me, would you be okay
or would you be fading and waning
under the bright light of day?
Yes, I’m okay, but that doesn’t
really mean anything, does it?
Maybe instead we should ask
“are you good?” because good is
good, there is no doubt about it.
And if you’re obviously lying,
why does nobody ever say
“I don’t believe you”?
I might say I’m okay when I’m
feeling barely satisfactory at all,
but there is no confusion in good.
Though I sometimes wonder
If it sticks around like it used to.
This is helping this is helping this is helping
I never collapsed on you.
I tried really hard not to, and
I always found somewhere else
to lean, or to just fall over sideways.
I hate that I was the one to make
you worry, and I never go on guilt trips
so this is new to me, but I made sure
to buy a return ticket.
I’ll still never collapse on you.
I could lean on somebody new
but I’d just feel bad for that too,
eventually. I feel better telling myself
that I never collapsed on you
but a suppressed memory is telling me
that’s not really true.
I rarely collapsed on you.
thin clouds streak through the air
once white and untouched, now
made beautiful by a hidden
yellow benefactor
who watches from a distance.
feeling peachy, the pale blue
winter sky
blushes
and the sun knows it has completed
its best work of the day
right before
it dies.
I’m stuck somewhere between
an apology and a “fuck you,
this is the way it is” because
you are the way you are
with each other; there is no
look-in for me.
So why be surprised if I
don’t always turn up to play
second-string to your special
friendship? There is obviously
nothing you need from me
and that is nothing new.
The two most enchanting things you can do for me
are to use a semi-colon correctly
and to understand mine.
Written on Saturday 27th December, 2014 at 21:02
Every silence is diagnosed,
assessed for awkwardness.
Why can’t quiet be peace?
