There's No Two Alike

Wonder why I drift my words
into letters on a page?

I do it to empty my head,
my body,
my blood.
To rid my soul of everything
stuck inside for so long.

To say "So Long!"
Let life go on,
and enjoy the grace
laid in front of my merciful eyes.

Whether those (of importance)
have looked at me with the eyes
of ignorance and denial-

Have any idea of who I forgot to be,
or who I've become. . .

I STILL AM!

And I find myself
making the point over and over.

Comparisons couldn't be exacts,
so I'll let honesty speak for itself.

The Need To Be Heard

 I have so many things to say. 

So much to tell the world. 

With no crowd to hear a thing

I gather everyone I know, 

pull them close, and start talking.

I wonder if I can say it all

before I forget or before I grow 

a bit old to talk it out.

Every word to hold close and dear

I hope they don't fall on deaf ears.

I’m only asking my world 

to acknowledge that I exist, 

and to listen while I’m alive.

I leave the world with a written word, 

if I grow too old to speak out loud.

Could You Imagine the Phobia?

On a fine warm day,
the last date you remember-
hints of December 8, 2019.

You take a second to soak
in the summery scenery.
The rich green grass
beneath a picnic table.

You find yourself seated
in a park with
unfamiliar company.
They sound familiar with you,
you unrest an oddity
of what should be-
December 9.

An immense sadness,
an immediate panic
enters your blood
and travels intense, through.

A sudden understanding of
what's happened once before.
You ask around the table
with a furrow in your brow.
You realize you don't know
where you're at,
or who you're sitting with.

You speak a sudden,
"What year is it?
What's today's date?"

They stop their chatter,
their laughter,
their banter,
look with concern,
 look with no answer.

Try to check your phone,
but there's no phone in sight.

Panic again.
Search for your spouse.
No answer must mean,

a thought occurs to you;
Even they aren't aware
of the time or the day,
or what's happened to me.

It's all such a mystery.

You arise, frantic, from the table
in search of someone,
anyone who knows.

Asking the year, time, date.
No one seems coherent enough to know.

A sudden epiphany,
and you know to search
for a white coat to question.

SAD

 The light casts a feathery white shadow on my blackened back.

Pulling me out of the dark,  a place I felt I’d be forever.

I’d dance myself out 

of the darkness and into the light.

Who knew happiness 

could be so easy to achieve.

As easy as the seasons 

change from winter to spring.

I’m automatic, 

I’ve got nature’s disease.

Hold On To That Thought!

I sit in my old blue room,
it's walls blackened with
the smoke of a failed furnace.

Reflecting on the first time I felt self-conscious.

Another's reaction to my enjoyment,
 at an unjust age of four.
Who taught me embarrassment,
or "out of" self-awareness?

An intense emotion for a toddler to address.

How impressive it's become;
To hear the thought of each time
I nit-picked at each stitch of myself.
To find myself sewing each seam back up,
new and improved.

Locked up, wondering how I turned into
 a messy pile of fabric in the first place.
Looking back at a once body-conscious self.
The images in front of my eyes,
happen to be much different from
what I once saw in myself.

A self-taught lesson in self-confidence;
If you've any of it in you to begin with,
abstain from asking for an outsider's opinion.
It can only result in torn fabric,
and loose threads laying over your life.

A testament to today,
kills the idiocy of yesterday.
Depression may pile on the pounds,
and it's weight isn't even literal.

It takes a full separation of self,
to make you see.

Certain people taught you how to self-loathe,
and it can be the hardest lesson to unlearn.
Certain people only know
how to project themselves on to you,
and they're out of their minds for doing so.

Ciao

Thanks again,
guilt,
for getting to me
the way you do.

Right in the wreck
of my revelation
and what I can recall.

There in my memory of Nova
is the home we built
on the strongest foundation.

Appealing affection
and not taking advantage
of every opportunity afforded.

There he is again,
guilt,
gearing his ugly head up
to tear me in two.

But there’s still whispers
hidden within my mind
that creep in upbeat.

Nothing wrong with starting new,
or saying goodbye to something great
that is soon to be gone.

I Woke Up For This?

They make lipstick from whales.

 A father's ashes turn to brick,
while a mother and daughter
try to chip away at them.

All she wants is to throw part of him
deep into the Australian ocean.

Whales. . .

Unconditional

The benevolent,
sharpened with a well-defined edge,
care wholehearted for needy souls.

They hold a particular place for people
who refuse to return the gesture,
holding higher the humanity who rest unable.

Soul's what they have
--we're not talking about spirit.
We're talking about integrity!

The intensity of human emotion at work-
modest when applied to anyone other than the self!

Can't everyone be relentless
with the impulse to give
what we're able to supply?

It's a certain kind of beauty.
Absolute compassion,
and it breaks the merciful
down into better people.

Someone Else's Shoes

Two people- alike,
may never connect because of their contrast.

Growing blind to equality
is one of the world’s greatest distortions.

They warp each other’s words
to incriminate any opposition
and victimize themselves
in a sad attempt at self righteousness.

You could blame either side of a double edge,
but both sides are fitting to destroy who they face.

Every controversial campaign
is a deadened heart
facing an empty argument.

Equality isn’t the intention today,
nor has it ever been.

The intention is to turn vindictive,
forget forgiveness,
then be on the look out for no one
but number one.

Self-indulgence is difficult to look past,
but it is possible to understand an antagonist.

To live with the understanding
that everyone has some sort of justification
for their behavior.

The problem is,
there are few willing
to take a step inside.

Only Few Would Understand

Hope has a memory of misfortune.
She questions the man
who has his hands on everything.

Does he dream of dropping
the abundance his arms can hold?

Hopeless created a void for fallen men.
Deep inside the recesses of the caves called,
dire minds.
A place where the cold go to get warm,
spark a fire, ignite, and savor the memory
of chasing down an identity.

Only to learn you're new undertaking
is the demand to be understood.

Will you realize how much it outweighs
the need to identify yourself?

 An entire world could recognize you.

Sink Into the Silence

I'd like to drown,
left face down
floating in the deepest
waters of my life.

Flooded ears,
say goodbye to the sounds
of the shoulders
speaking in the ears.

Whether divine or monstrous,
admit to the atrocity
of my cerebral scrutiny.

Then close my eyes
for the last time
before being reborn.

Only to have the nerve
to question
a newly found silence.

I Don't Need to Change Face

I’d rather be faceless
than faced with subjective scrutiny.

Rather;
Avoid scrutinizing others
and face what I hate about myself.
Accept each visible imperfection
as it stands out, to take hold of the spirit.

Rather know;
Wisdom.
What counts.
How to be.
Who to be.

How to see past what my eyes see.

Can't you see?

Question yourself;
What can't you see?
What's missing,
because something must be!

Kind of- out of place,
I've forever been out of my element.

Now, forever's become a place.

I Hardly Know You

An invitation to your embrace,
your warm heart, and kind face.

I'll stow my affection, in an attempt
to give you the right impression.

The expression of marriage's unwavering blow,
must be a hard hit to take.

There's no apology to give,
as there's no brain in your head.

No rattle to shake your empty mind,
 with its, vast capacity to fill.

Yet, too naive to understand devotion,
or the meaning of eternity.

I can't calm your endless storm, or stand to listen.

You cry about your brokenness,
 another creature, I can not fix.

Then blame me for existing-
muddled a million miles from you.

In the Midst

Righteousness encompasses
so much more
than we're able to comprehend.

Powerful words have
powerful weights.

An ode to the assembly,
we can speak in to life.

And in true fashion,
speak ourselves out of peace.

Until You Try

What a strange day,
a haze in my mind
to glaze over the eyes.

An itch inside- everywhere,
to accomplish anything.

Pumped with coffee anxiety
and the need for a nap.

Trapped within the quietness,
four walls can offer.
Hearing my wheezy breath,
feeling the hesitance of my shaky hands.

What can I say?

An effortless addiction will traumatize
what's left of the little man's brain.

Young brother- I'm telling you;
You never had the chance to be normal.
Never knew your father.

Only knew his haste,
and with haste learned his behavior.

You know;
When a family's cursed,
it's cursed for decades,
possible centuries.
But when it's blessed,
it's blessed for an eternity.

With a strange;
Rainy, hazy, foggy wish.
I pray a blessing in your midst.

You never know what
blessings your hands can build.

Elgee

I like to see life as it is,
with no mystery,
no grand illusion,
as much as it may appear.

Ideas of our invention
harbor greater meaning.
Our delusions,
an explanation-
light of ourselves.

Take a look at a past self,
do you see you today?

Evolution takes its toll,
we grow into greatness.
Not everyone,
some turn back to some strange slime.

As you can wager the guess,
I recognize them
as much as a perfect stranger.

Sort of like being sick. . .
Snot dripping from your nose,
two panda eyes, mouth ajar to breathe.
Perhaps a hunch in your back
to keep your head from aching.

Yet there's something I've seen before.

Everything's an adjustment for comfortable living,
what about when you're not comfortable anymore?

Cynicism

Some will poke your bruises,
then laugh when you say ouch.

Turn your back to them.

Sit alone,
say a silent
no thank you.

No matter how low their lows,
yours can lay lower.

Getting a kick on the ground
can kick start the evil in anyone.

When you throw insults out as hits,
it's hard to say if, or when you'll stop.

Ha, Oops!

I watch my thoughts
flow from my mouth
and float around the room.

I'd like to see them entering your ears,
but I know it's a far-fetched idea.

The concept of hearing's easy.
Listening's a different story,
let's forget understanding all-together.

Comprehension may be key,
but damn,
I must be incomprehensible!

To Begin With

Reality idle,
behind you dangles
the hanging man.

 A reminder-
what you recollect,
has become a chronic dead-eye.

My mind boggling me,
questions everything
I thought I knew.

I never knew anyone,
or anything.

Couldn't Hurt

Credit holds a mystery:
Marked down as a misery.
Of how we're unfit to understand
how to give ourselves enough.

Yet, the dim witters gather more attention:
Than honesty, hard work,
and the choice to do good-
gather praise.

No one reflects on righteous acts.
Fools as essential, as salt- a spice.

And there's this snippet he said-
childish petulance:
It played us like tiny toy soldiers,
and we treat one another as such.

Lost connection with the company who keep us.
Focused on flipping the world,
failing to see what's on our own streets.

Whatever it could be, humanity has become:
Whether rich, convenient, ungrateful, or miserable-
step outside yourself.

Tough Love's Tough

So many of us live with the lame attempt
at re-living our pasts.
It's a broken attempt
at avoiding the future.
A futile attempt
at avoiding attention to the present.

I can't be the only one sick
of seeing adults act like children.

Take your nostalgia goggles off…
Get off the couch.
Grow up…
Get a job.

Something, or anything to break
the state of mind holding you here.

I know it's attempt to fill some emptiness,
but the past lies, twenty years gone.

Dwelling so long only makes the void greater.

Anti-War Path

You have the choice to be benevolent
in any way you wish.

The power to build character;

To lift yourself out
of the pit of an invented misery.

Have a heart,
feed the hungry.

To pick up plastic
drifting to ocean shores.

Clothe children
in chilling winter months.



Despite everything or everyone-
no one has the power to stop you!

Why would they?

A Question For the Ages

Writers need be
the creators of new cliche's.

Our common grounds,
adverse,
we've heard each one bathe in cynicism.

They're a subtle melody
of melancholy in the ear.

Society fails to change.

Dead philosophers, scholars,
and poets who convey truth.
They conveyed it best.
Forgotten,
a million years behind,
messages,
hints to heart,
truth mattered.

To each of them a purpose,
and what of us?

Suffering from insomnia:

How're we to be...
A gleam of light-
from 3 A.M. darkness?

There Is No Step Ahead

Unwashed white lace,
a place I disconnect
at the altar of
"I told you so."

Oh, black lace,
where I belong,

playing games with
your toy trains of thought.

You can not distinguish a single stain,
a fabric of white lace would show.

Could control be advantageous,
I'd use it to build your backbone.

Then watch your spine stand strong
through each train wreck.

I'd tone your character
with the quality of endurance.

Denial has the strength to create
the world's largest monstrosity.

Don't Be the Meat

Staring into oblivion at your own expense.
Carrying on, in combat with yourself.

Control, the stiff, jagged elephant on stilts.
Become the raggedy chest of drawers.
Or the woman with the meat, propped up on her crutches.
Dangle your offering before the world.

You aspire to run out of view, then hide for none to seek.
Glued within your migrant way, and the subtlety of sitting tight.

No one speaks of admiration:

Honest hands of youth.
Abundance, a home in your heart, has to offer.
Open up, tilt her over, let those drawers spill out onto the floor.
Combust, Giraffe, so everyone can see!

Rather, they'd watch clocks melt on the walls until daylight has run out.
Then find a candle flicker in the blackness of the ticking.
See its light glitter for a moment, dull out, then extinguish.

Blinded, awaiting the anxiety, of another's exclusion.

Flip the Damn Coin

Puppeteers, and puppets. 

Could you be the controller?

Or the vessel spewing the echoes of another beneath your puppet strings?

Crazy conspiracy theorists...

Doomsday preppers, bouncing off the walls of their bunkers.

I've heard each of them. . .

The “men on the high horse.” 

And the guys who knock them off like little Humpty Dumpty. 

Where could the king's horses and men be?

Out to lunch I see.

Fear mongers, fearful abiding citizens.

Those stepping outside their trying ego to say no to fear.

Bravery.

Those serving justice, get shot down daily. 

Leaving behind fat shoes to fill...

And who can fill them better than the last?

Oh, how sparse, I see the people who try to discern others. 

The people of “acceptance.” 

True “two-sides of a coin” types. 

And they’re tossing it to see more.

Reflect on this when you make what you see as a static statement.

A message for the messengers:

Be flexible, try bending to fit for once.

The Celestial Face

Sunrise is the success
of the enlightened eye,
unaware of undeadliness
to motivate the mind.

Tell Me What You Want to Hear

Stand outside yourself.
Watch each self-sabotaging idea you've had in life circle the drain.

Say goodbye to each idea of not being enough:
To the mentality which brought you here to begin with.
To a blackened backbone, charred and weak.
It's not you...

Trust me.

You aren't what you imagine yourself to be.
You're born with the ability:
To overcome the ashes you've set yourself on fire to be.

You can stand outside the drain.
Say goodbye without letting yourself go down.

I Wrote This at 3 AM

Insomniacs;
being over medicated,
abilities underrated.

They're everywhere!

Each hour they lie awake;
a rattle, thoughts of what to do in head.
"I could be more productive at night,
but wide-eyed, I lie awake in bed."

You imagine the banters had today,
how you plan to discuss them tomorrow.
Chatting yourself into the thoughts of disarray.

See them tumble around the brain like laundry.
But one overload and suds spill to the floor.
You wonder how clean, clean can be...

Or when does clean become dirty?
Will your house fill with suds to mop?

Sounds like a fun endeavor, no doubt,
to the most chaotic living creature.
And a word to the wisest souls,
we live to be the creature chaos makes.

There's one detail you should know...

Co-operation acts as the burly key
to tame insomnia's scattered blow.

But hey, what do I know?

Who Cares?

Get the feeling you’re on the wrong planet?
Feel like a perpetual lost puppy?

I’ve been told I took the look a time or two. 
As someone who’s realized
I’ve been lost my entire life.

I know exactly where I’m at.

Somewhere drifting between
this question I ask myself, "Why am I here?"
And this other question
loves to riddle me,"How did I get here?"

As if it wasn't hard enough to exist
without needing a reason!

My mind seems to love giving me a hard time.
Perplexed by an odd anxiety
of feeling like I don't even exist.
I'm some strange vessel of a mind
asking itself useless questions.

Thinking. Thinking. Thinking.
Am I even thinking at all?

Oh boy!
Here comes another brick wall
of impossible answers.
And sometimes you have to say
something to yourself.

Well, I say several things.

No One Here to Help You

My heart needs to catch up with my body.

A slow beat,

a sudden arrhythmia.

I find myself blind and deaf for a moment.

A beautiful idea I had in my head.

This gift of foresight,

clouded by ringing in my ears.

A tone I'm too familiar with

eating at what used to be.

Ambition is what's left of me.

Wishes of what could be.

My head pounding heavy,

my breath shallow.

A feverish breeze of fatigue blows me over.

I,

overcome by an early sense of self.

I once thought I could achieve anything.

As truth has it,

my body won't allow me to achieve what I once could.

What does truth truly know,

when your health forces you to listen to your ego?

It starts with,

I can’t do it all.

And ends with

nothing I can do.

I'm Better For It

The rain chooses my path today.
Whether I stay or leave in its midst.

And this somber feeling,
I overheard,
was a lack of shining sun.

So I give into the weathers' grief
and sob a little story of my own.

Shining sun why have you left me?

I can’t help but ask in such a daunting time.

With puddles to wade,
why would you allow me to drown
in the power of my own thought?

I have no hypothesis,
no account, no answer
for being born so desolate
on such a strange earth.

I apart from pretty near everyone,
draw a blank and accept what is.

This is my fate.

Uncomplicated

Modern life-
born of flesh,
the bodily fluid in our lineage.

Intelligent design
isn't about a higher power.

Our creators-
we know them as;
Mother, Father.

Simple, imperfect as us.
Created in their likeness.
We rise up to,
and exceed their greatness.

Misuse of a phrase can cause much confusion,
making commonplace difficult to catch.

Simplicity could be our Savior,
if we could simply be.

Don't Drop Heart

A humanitarian heart
has a hard time
saying no to the needy.

At the expense of a person's sanity,
no's a serious word.

Knowing when to say it,
how to give a gracious negation.
Learning how to turn
a "no" to a "maybe later."
And a "maybe later" to a "no."

The importance;
of a break,
of a breath,
a nap,
a nifty book.

A humanitarian heart
needs itself most.

I’m About to Drown

I have become unknown to my “self.”

A simple conception-
What I hear of my “self” inside my mind
sounds much different from your perception.

My head, pounding, run down,
my body starts sounding a bit off.

Everything's an illusion,
a simple light, glaring on a shelf of flour.
Seems divisive, out to get me.
Panic on a shelf in harmless powder form.

Well that’s schizoaffective for ya.
Finding a way for plain objects
to become panic attacks in little packages.
This run down, droopy eyed sense of self
became sick of caring.

Desensitized by the realization-
This is a hallucination.

So my fear subsides,
but I know this won’t be the end.
Try teetering on the edge of reality
and what your mind wants you to believe.
So when it spoke of suicide. I said,
“For me, my ‘self’ is worthless in the grave.”

The point when my sense of self crumbled,
not sure when I witnessed it
turn to mud before my eyes.
Hey, I could’ve told myself that was an illusion all day,
wouldn’t’ve changed how real, it really was.

Yet I sit, and explain my disdain for Bukowski-
meanwhile I listen to myself sounding
more like him than I’d like to admit.

“Be what you love.”  They say.
Well, I’d love to be something I’m not,
I can’t be an Emerson, a Dickinson, a Tennyson.
While I, used to be a “son” myself.
I’d like to be anyone but me, while I’m waiting
for this mournful moment to pass.

This unbridled hurricane of emotion
outweighs me pound by pound.
Toppling over me, is an ocean of the obscure.

An Internal Idea

It’s easy to give in to a push,
knees on the ground.
Within my anger,
a bit of evil slips inside my head.

I clenched my fist.
Then in my mind,
turned around
and aimed right at her jaw.

Well, how bloody a mess
my hand would've made.

Reality focused on my breath.
Sad, the confusion
of what I’d done to deserve this.

The truth taught me, I’m passive.
I slipped out, hid in the hall.
Leaned against a wall,
and slumped down
till my head hit my knees.

I couldn’t give in to my anger.
So I suffer from my own
mind games in one hand,
hopelessness in the other.

So long as the end's near,
it could be any day out of the blue.

I don’t need a push.
My days are numbered.
I won’t be here forever.

Life’s not long enough
to be a war with others,
if  I'm at war with myself.

Your Eyes and Your Ears

Close your eyes to the world.

What you don't need to see,
can't leave an eerie impression,
with your eyes closed.

The blanket
doesn't need to cover
the total of your toes.

Rather, it should cover
the sum of your fears.

It's Really Not That Bad.

I need a break

 need a better heart

 need a life

 need to learn

I’m a loser,

that’s all there is to it.

You can sit around

and beg me

to stop feeling that way

all day.

Just know-

in my mind,

it’s true.

But I don’t think of this

as a negative thing

the way you do.

I’m just enabling others

to be winners.

Because someone has to lose,

why not me?

What About We? What About You?

I am not insightful
I am spiteful
Trying to make a point
A lesson for myself to learn

I am not who you think I am
I am far from the splendid
I am spent,
loose change lying on the floor
I I I
I am selfish
Me me me

At least I admit it
Me does my best
I’ve done better with
Good better best,
But who’s good enough
 to be their very best?

Not I,
or is it me?

Guess you’ve got to be
better than the rest.

I never said I knew,
I just spouted nonsense
 you’d never understand.

Then I played by hand,
not ear,
I didn’t listen,
do you understand?

It was hard to hear
what you were saying,
so I stood and stared.

Instead of offering you advice
I offered you my hand.

How can I help?
Can I state the question clearly?
How can I do less harm, more good?

Stand back, space is required..
Think about this one for a little while.

Trying

You tried to claim

              to explain your demons

              to me,

but all I saw was heaven in

                              your eyes.

                Despite your disposition-

           I see past a mask of red and blue

           I see yellow for

                              your fears…

Please know it’s okay

              to feel black inside

              to bring out the blue

              to let the red rest for once.

           Know that I’m not going anywhere.

                            I’m strung to you

with dirty white lace

       and aged like an antique.

                           I’m weathered a bit

              I can take it

or spare some tears.

Because it Comes at a Cost

Under wing,
you've hung up,
 my desperate need to spread,
to take flight.

Potential can't propel me
across nations
when the stormy weathers show.

A single storm to shake your shelter:
Frozen in a wintry disease,
left to thaw in a cool spring breeze.

Summer reminded me when flight,
 and freedom had meaning to me.

My ailments- empty.

A deep breath,
a strong, winded lung,
and in creep their memory.

Simple freedom:
A chance to allow yourself life.
To be righteous.
To learn from another, as opposed to self.
An encompassing cliche.

The complexities of being free:
A right to rule.
The privilege to obey.
A vague perception of justice.
The uncertainty of fairness.

I'll leave my weighted wings behind;
walk not fly, sail not soar-
if it's what freedom deems necessary.

One Thrives, Another Dies

A blown expense, cost you, my support.
My ideas mismatch the mutual.

I'm told to use my voice,
"Speak-up!"
They say!

Then refuse to listen,
when I say what they'd rather not hear.

Reminding me, my voice,
couldn't be more useless.

Wholeness, health, restoration,
other lies they'll feed you.

They cause us to ignore
vital information.

The Maze My Mind Has Become

A list of what-if's fill my mind.

I pack the bags under my eyes
with exhaustion.

Walking with fright,
unsure if I'm making any sense. 

You're the road I take
to unknown places.

The forgotten dark roads left behind
with pieces of myself intertwined.

You're a soul-crushing cackle,
bouncing around me at night.

Sleep, or my mind,
what do I call on tonight?

I spoke to myself,
to calm the craziness,
but there's nothing I could do.

The only way out is through.

My Morning

The time of day I drag
my body out of bed.

Try to avoid losing vision,
fainting, or falling down.

A migraine awaits me,
at the top of the stairs.

A place where my breath runs from me...
Impossible to catch that guy some times.
Who needs to breathe anyhow?

The top, where my heart races.
I'm feeling flush,
and try hitting the floor
before it hits me.

My sight escapes me, my ears ring.
Zero sound, hearing lost.

It's a miracle
I've made it this far!

Etiquette

How to accept an apology with grace:

Understand humanity
doesn't understand
the word sorry.

Realize, integrity,
does exist in an
"if, an or but."

Some people, while genuine,
feel no remorse for their actions.
Yet they're honest,
sorry for the aftermath.

I know, at times, it's much easier,
to blow off steam...

To scream in someone's face,
to exclaim,
"IF AN OR BUT! HA!
WHAT ABOUT THAT I?
OR DID?"

Try to be kind, and say instead;

I understand the effort put in to this apology.
I'm unimpressed your sickly sorries.

Everything you've done
is incredibly infuriating.

However, I realize an apology
can be hard to find.
There's both promise and integrity
in a person who's willing to try.

Curiosity Didn't Kill the Cat.

He stares off into the space surrounding him.

Lost his freedom of expression to the wound ball of yarn.
Each push continues an ethereal unravel.

By the throat, left tangled in stringy embrace.

Something as simple as this left him voiceless.
Our response seems to be, "accidents happen."

Let me tell you, those at fault don't believe in accidents.
They believe in horrible, horrible mistakes.

Mistakes happen.

To Be a Step Away

My limbo state was the failure
to make it to square one of recovery.
Whatever the reason may be,
denial, reluctance, or even rebellion.

The world keeps moving.
No matter what state of limbo you're in,
and you criticize me
for being okay with recovering.
A laughable, no, is all I can say to that.

Please understand,
I come from a different place,
a place of ambition.

I fall. I break. Pick my pieces off the ground.
I carry them until I'm able
to glue my disconnected parts back on.
Maybe you haven't found your square one.

So listen, I can't help you.
I can try.
With no explanation other
than what I've been given,
I can tell you,
your square one is close enough.

The Sad State Of Me

I'm as delusional as I've ever been.
No interest in joining the world in the daily grind today.
The blank spaces of life, the time spent doing nothing
get's greater with the hold depression's got over my head.

And inside it, a groove that spoke to me
and said my place in this world.
Notching me in to a space I belong.
Alone. At my desk. It isn't so bad.
I belong in this book, on this page.
Again and I again I tell myself
I'm some sort of superhero.
I can change the world from the darkness
that midnight brings to my desk.

If I'm unable to to fulfill the job,
the weight of how horrible I am
at taking care of myself falls over me.
A loud thunderstorm of thoughts.
Remind me I can't be good enough,
again and again.

The storm starts to quiet down. . .
I'm left dealing with the aftermath.
The flood of reality telling me -
I'm a nothing again and again.

Where's the superhero,
where's the weight of the world?

It's the sickness that caught up with me,
the pressure of needing to give back to my world,
that has sacrificed all it has, to keep me happy.

But I fail to be.

Ninety

You feel your memory is fading,
half asleep,
in a fog.
It's a theory I have for you,
that you feel as if
you're drifting through the day.

In a daze,
and unafraid of dementia.
You've accepted your age,
your death to come.

I can say for certain
that you're the only someone
I've met so willing to keep
their wits about them.

Or prior to the start of your senility -
someone so accepting
of the world as it is.
Or someone so willing to lend
the helpless a hand of grace.

We owe the world your wisdom,
and it's our job to pass it on.