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.

It's Sad When

Humanity isn’t able to apologize.

No longer knows how to understand;

Accept our differences.

Except for our differences.

What we don’t know is;

How to love despite being flawed,

how to be flawed, how to be flawless.

When to care, when to care less,

and when to be careless.

How to think

without being told what to think.

We believe everything printed in digital ink.

We don’t think. . .

We don’t adopt, but breed

children in need.

We don’t give,

but instead give

in, to greed.

Thought Storage

I'm in a familiar place
without familiar faces.

I'm a stand-alone being.

A shelf for your thoughts
and ideas to rest on.
What you forget,
I remember.

Everything under the sun.
I'm an attic filled to the brim.
Overflow and forget what's in me,
until one day someone cleans me out.

Emptiness becomes fulfillment, a quiet,
peaceful blank slate of silence and loneliness.

Grab the chalk, make it messy,
and clean it all over again.

How quaint, to be so simple-minded.
To have the option to keep,
but to give in spite of the junk
the world loves to fill you up with.

I Never Want to Go Back

My worth is greater than my past,
my faults, my regrets, and my shortcomings.

I will take a somber look at my memories,
see the beauty in mistakes
and bad decisions made.

The magic of moving on,
is finding peace in the fact
that some lessons are self-taught.
Lessons that couldn't exist
without mistakes to lead the way.

If confidence is in short supply-
it's easier to see your growth

Outrage IS an Issue

You lose your rationale,
stop making sense.

Who cares what's common?

Your head bloats like a balloon,
floats toward outer space,
and pops.

Wow, you were SO full
of SO much hot air.

At least that's the only thing
you've proven to me,
and isn't it kind of amazing?

How your point of view
is the only one in existence
when you're angry.

Isn't it interesting?
Incredibly convenient?
How your perspective skews reality?

The way it can contort
someone's true intentions?

Turn them into a villainous creature,
even if they have the greatest heart,
with the greatest of intentions.