Poetry

In My Head

I write all the time. In my head.
Maybe I’m crazy. I don’t know. I forgot the definition.
Is it crazy to write poetry, songs and prose in your head every minute of the day
Well in between the forced labor.
I try to focus. It’s the most difficult thing I do. Distract myself from the words that come.
And the melodies. God the melodies. You should hear them. Beautiful. Rockin.
They just come. I wish I could wear ear muffs to muffle the sound. . . . but it comes from within.
Maybe I should see a doctor. Maybe he or she could design a muffler to stop the sounds from my brain to my ears.
If they could do that, I would go lay on the beach for 4 days. I would listen to the ocean and think of nothing.
But I go back to my computer and type in the spreadsheets. And hear the melodies pushing through and the words banging on my eardrum.
And I wish for the beach.

 

My Little Poems

I like my little poems.
They are small.
They tell me things.
Things you don’t see.
They are like my songs.
I write them fast with little editing. I let the words flow from the deep and onto the white expanse.
They come or they don’t come.
I don’t question them. I don’t schedule appointments to write them.
I don’t need anyone else.
They are my own. They mean something to me.
It doesn’t matter if you like them.
I do.

 

I Wait For You

I always wait for you.
Sitting here spinning my wheels.
Like a clock – each one spinning around the other. Each one performing its duty on time and in place.
Waiting for time to move forward.
Waiting for you.
Time doesn’t move forward without you.
I stare at numbers that move but they don’t mean anything.
They are worthless. They just take a place – moving from one to the other. On to the next.
And I wait. I wait for the markers to mean something. I wait for time.
I wait for you.

 

Just Let Me Fall

I just want to fall down in this hole.
It’s there open wide. Not really inviting. Not really waiting.
It just is.
I could fall. I caught myself a few times.
I’m not sure why. I think to fall would be a relief.
Because I could just fall. I could feel the weightlessness and the air around me.
I could feel my stomach going up into my throat – begging me to catch solid matter.
I could feel my heart racing – just ready to jump out of my body at any second.
I could feel the terror of my lungs as they struggle to fill with air.
I could think all of those end thoughts – the ones that race when your life flashes. Those thoughts that you forgot were so precious. Those thoughts that you don’t think every day –
Those thoughts that keep you from falling.
I just want to fall. Let me.
I’m ready. Just let me fall.

 

Where You Are

I look at where you are and I see.
I know your road. I feel your pain. I see the scars.
I am wise. Not wiser. Just wise. I see.
You are not there yet. There is more. You look at the road ahead.
You can’t make sense of what is behind and let it bring you forward.
I see. I know. I understand only with where I am.
I accept where you are. I see it. I know it.
You are immature. Young but strong. You are dangerous.
You are not wise. Or wiser. You do not see. You do not know.
You are a child. In some ways.
But you are where you are.
I see. One day you will see.

 

Colors

I stare at this blank page – waiting for me to say everything
And nothing.
White – the presence of all color. It is all here – just waiting to be revealed.
But how do I sort through the colors? How do I keep something out? How do I only show one? Or two? Or three?
There is so much to express and no way to leave anything out.
I hide it all but can’t hide anything.
You just can’t see. You have no idea.
So I stare. I look at all the colors. They are waiting
For the deep. They wait for some thing to surface – some idea, some feeling, some passion
To break through and make sense of the colors.
But I just stare. I’m not ready. Almost. I think about the depth and how to dive down – how to bring up some color that makes sense – but I don’t dive down far enough.
And sometimes I don’t dive. I just stare. Waiting.
And they wait with me. Burnt sienna and periwinkle blue and seafoam green and all the colors I used to pick out of the brand new box because they were the special ones.
But they are in the box. I am in the box.
Waiting.

 

Back to the Light

Everything fell apart. Maybe it was already apart and I finally acknowledged it.
Recognizing the mess I recognized my own mess.
I saw my own fragments scattered on the floor. Looking up at me wondering when I’m going to pick them up.
Get it together you say. I say.
Fuck you.
Put yourself together. Look at your own pieces – shining up at you in the light. You don’t even know it.
You just shut out the light. Now neither one of us can see – both of us are blind. Blind to ourselves and blind to each other.
I’ll try the light again. I can’t keep putting it away. I can pick up the pieces and put away the sword.
I’ve shattered enough – me, you, everything. I just need to get back.
Back to the light.

 

In Your Own Way

I know that you love me –
In your own way.
It’s not that caring kind of love – or that sacrificial love -
It’s that kind of love where you say one thing and do another.
I understand it. I feel it. I know it.
It’s not reciprocal. It’s wrapped in its own blanket of selfishness.
Well it’s not really love I guess.
It’s some strange sort of emotion that is shallow and ungrounded.
An emotion without connection and without depth of feeling.
So I don’t really know how you feel about me except that
I know that you love me –
In your own way.

 

Restraint

You have no restraint.
And I can’t help you.
You try to control your world to save your Self but you cannot control your Self.
You are without control trying to control.
I would laugh but I can’t.
You scare me.
I’m not sure why.
I try.
I numb myself.
I don’t feel.
I’m not scared.
I can laugh.
Life is more than what you can make it.
I can’t help you.
I show restraint.

 

I Could Love

I could cry. But I think I cried enough that night – that ugly, horrible night. I’m out of tears – for now.

I could scream. But I have responsibilities. I swallow the screams.

I could give up. I have. And then I got up again and moved around and realized my life really wasn’t over. Even though it felt like it.

I could run away. I do - in my own ways, to my own places. Some of them are secret. Some of them are in the center of the entire world.

I could talk. With those that love me it is comforting. With you it is frustrating. The struggle isn’t worth it. It’s too late to talk.

I could open the door - the one that I closed a long time ago. The one I’ve had such a hard time trying to open again. But the knocking continues. I have to open it. Maybe I’m ready.

I could breathe. I’ve held my breath for so long – afraid to make any noise. I didn’t want to disturb you. You get so angry – so annoyed.

I could sing. I’ve tried. I’ve been trying. My voice has been coming out – but still goes back inside – way down in that deep place where I can’t reach it.

And so I just do what I’ve done all along. . .

I could Love.