Coming back, to leave.
Oh look what I used to do.
It’s tough, looking back at all these loves.
True ones, felt in my marrow. Deeper.
I can feel them still, if I try.
And I do sometimes.
Funny how I remind myself
after all these lifetimes have passed,
that the right person
at the wrong time
is the wrong person.
How my brain knows these things more than ever, finally.
And how it feels good to find a glimmer of contentment,
which has never come easy for me.
Oh but comfort is a vile word in my mind,
dirty, like ‘stagnant’ –
what a hideous group of letters that is.
Comfort takes us away from the real grit of living
and into the day to day hellos and good(bad)byes,
grocery lists and buds in ears.
So. I will walk.
And rid myself of comfort for awhile,
and the past, for good.
I can’t poem.
Every now and then
I’m pretty sure
that what could have been
is what should have been.
But what am I going to do about that now?
Answer: nuthin’
So what can I do?
Just keep on truckin’.
Funny how the past won’t let me go,
No matter how far away I get.
You know,
it’s funny.
I would relinquish
every memory of romance
(from 2005-2010)
just to have those
genuine,
pure
friendships back.
Lessons learned.
Tbd
The downside of finally achieving
the independence
and confidence
that I so desperately sought
is an invisible wall between those I strive to love
and the indie, mouthy
being I’ve become.
Surely there is a balance.
Roger, Roger.
(But please don’t call me Shirley)
Nomad
sometimes no matter how happy,
i get that feeling of wanting to
run
as fast as i can,
(feet, wheels, or wings)
and just start
all
over.
Page 83.
Three hundred dollars and a self-help book
have been donated to your favorite charity.
I also talked them into loving me
and then walked away honorably
(just to repay the entire debt.)
Surely they’ll do something nice for themselves.
Sealed.
I did that favor
and
prayed
for your peace.
It was answered very quickly,
it seems.
but
I won’t rewrite
the story
in my mind,
mkay?
Something new
Happy is hard and
angst is easy
(so) perhaps I should devote
my words to the
vulnerability of hope and harmony
and the fear of losing love.
Or maybe I should
simply
Enjoy it.
Sometimes.
Eggs in a basket
mystery.
More real than I pretend.
And “variety is the spice of life”
is what I say when I put myself in
your practical black shoes
and look back at me.
Not now but later.
I speak of the gimmick
and the honeymoon period
but what I really mean is
when will you get tired of me
like he did.
When will you look at what used to be cute
and sigh with exasperation
instead of wonder.
When does take your time
become hurry up
And
go have fun
become stay right here
And
I’ll cook dinner
become
do you know how to do anything?
You laugh and say never
But deep down what I know is
That it changes.
Quirk becomes irk
And we will all get stuck here.
Poem Found
from 3.08
Let’s dump all the
sadness;
enough of the
blues.
Goodbye to cries,
I’ve paid my dues.
It’s time for
the future;
it’s time for
the fun.
Time to pick up
the tempo
and put down
the gun.
so now that
it’s said,
let’s hope that it’s done.
Cause the battles are over.
The war has been won.
A Place for My Poems to Live 