Forty Something : Knocking

The creaks
Walls and plaster
Bend and bow
Stretch and tighten
With the tender touch of summers sun
Bend and bow
Stretch and tighten
But I am not a rubber band
I will break
Crack
Loosen
No one tells you
When you’re young
That you don’t heal
You never heal
You just plaster new walls

Forty Something : Re:re:re

If that’s what worked for you
But I won’t leave this place
My home
Be driven from it
The wood
By some fading apperition
Some spiteful machine
Some tangled thing that no longer exists
I will carry on
Stronger
Until it is banished
You can be a ghost
I’ll become something better
To exorcize you from my sacred groves

Forty Something : It Doesn’t

It doesn’t
Feel
Like anything new
Nothing new
New
Ghosts clutching to my shoulders
Skeletons in my closet
There were plenty
Before
I’m picking up more
For the fun of it
You break hearts
Because you don’t have one
Good
I didn’t want mine to begin with
You wrote about one
Like you loved him
I write like that about all of them

Forty Something : Sunny Side Up

I met a girl tonight
She had the name of that friend
The one you had ties to
But never talked to
Hurt feelings and all that
She was spectacular
Pretty, smart, dark hair
Things I used to look for
Before giving up
You
Faith, dignity
About fifteen pounds
Hope
Partners in crime
Like I thought Poppy might be…
Asked for a number
A fake
Turned down
She saw what you did
What they all do
Like Puddles told me once
“You’re the worst kind of person in the best possible way”
;I’m fucking sick of it
That and “you’re such a good friend.”
I know – feels good to be right…
Right?

Forty Three : Who Needs Heroin When The PCT Exists (Part 2)

I lay on the cot I’ve made myself behind the love seat on the floor of Jordans apartment, staring up at my phone trying not to think about how the screams of my body are getting louder and louder.
Suck it up, the man inside my head, the one that uses my voice, says.
I do.
I scroll through photos on Instagram until my fingers stop lazily scrolling on the start of the trail. My heart sinks five or six feet in defeat before climbing out of its grave and, standing tall and proud, says “not a defeat, a life altering learning experience.”
My neck itches and I scratch it. The breeze makes the room grow chill. I giggle at the irony. ” It’s so cold,” scratch scratch scratch, “just need to get back out to the PCT. God damn Mojave is calling to me ya know?!”
Like a comedic crackhead.
Fuck.
It’s only been four weeks but I feel so compelled. Everything I do from here on out, no matter how much I could try to deviate my course, feels like it’s just going to lead me back out into the great devouring wild.
The man that lives in my head, the one that uses my voice asks and I whisper the words as he does.
Do you remember the taste of it?

Forty Something : Stomping

Simple things that I miss.
Lounging over me on large chairs,
Like I’m the throne,
She the queen.
Random laughter at unfortunate things,
Dead bird,
Pretty bird.
She walks hard, with confidence,
Each step rings in my heart,
As she walked to me,
Through me,
And far beyond.
Where she will always stay.
Far, far beyond.