Thirty Something : A Confession Of Weakness

I saw a girl today
At the grocery store
Looking at bacon
She looked like you
Standing there
Flannel and skinny jeans
Rust red shoes
Those damn gold curls
I froze in place
Flooding full of memories
Hunting for you in the isles
Seeing you
Heart a flutter
I should have showed it more
So I panicked instead of facing them
The fears that took this poor girls form
I ran
To the check stand
Take my fucking money
Just get me away
It’s not time to…
It was
And I failed


Thirty Seven : Old Deck

The deck at mom’s house is old and worn, trampled half to death by the feet of children. Mine and Bean’s, sister’s, brother’s feet running up and down, in and out, back again and up onto the roof where the children can’t get us. I giggle at the thought of all the shenanigans had on that roof. The stories we invented, the world’s created and lost out of the imaginations of two bored boys. The smell of cow farms drifts by. Most people are offended. I take a deep breath, better than exhaust and the smell of fresh asphalt being poured diligently over the old. The smell of the city was suffocating.
Now Bean is having a baby daughter to go along with the one he inherited through marriage. More children to walk on the deck. It should be cared for soon – a project for my return. Sand and stain, prepare it for the next batch of tiny feet to stomp, skip, run over its wooden face. The stories it holds building. Stories I can read.


Thirty Six : Window

The window is open wide enough I can feel the breeze stir through the tiny room. My room. The room I switched to when I turned eighteen. When I decided to start staying out all night, walking around town with nothing better to do. I do that a lot when I’m here.
Nothing.
I left to chase something I knew I shouldn’t have, all the while feeling the lessons learned. I’ve always known when the lessons are coming. Feel it swelling. Life is a big mess of lessons.
I learned my lesson and came back to think about it.
This is also the room I lived in when I met you. The room I was happy to escape from. Too comfortable and without motivation.
Now this is the room I live in again. Where I grew up. Where I’m growing up again. The room that houses all my guilt, where I can catalog it, file it away for later and make sense of it when I can. When chaos isn’t pulling me in every direction. That vast, ruthless ocean I tend to sink or swim in.
I’m leaving again. I thought to walk you off, but I can’t do that. Not even if I spent my entire life trying. My baggage is all packed up for this one though and it weighs a lot more than my pack. I’ve got the luggage car all gassed up. You see, I’ve got this ghost of you chasing me all over town, no matter where I am. No matter how much I try to shake it, I just can’t seem to run. So I’m gonna try something else this time. I’m going to drop my bags in the woods and never look back. It’s funny, as much as I want that ghost to leave, I need it to keep chasing me. It’s become the driving force to all of this madness. This change. Funny, how we could be so right and so wrong about everything all at once. I’m going to let your ghost linger, pushing me forward.
But for now, I’m going to stew in all this. Take it all in. I closed a lot of doors, but you opened a window. The breeze has never been fresher.


Thirty Five : The Sun On Pavement

As soon as I start writing
Riding
Waves that crash into the front
My skull adjusts
Shake, shimmy
Footing on the board
My brain bumps around
Thoughts start fires
Will they save me?
Before I think of you?
Too late
They’re not here yet
But you are
With those golden curls
You wish you could cover in red

They come, just a second in time for me to finish the swell.

The sun beats down on the pavement, ever present in the noon day sun. I listen to the sounds. Logging trucks ho hum and grunt by like over worked oxen. A loud rattle as a small red car screams down the street. Kids, teens I mean to say, talk about what won’t matter in a years time.
The sun beats down ever present. I feel it burning through my clothes. Chill wind gives the sensation of needles. Nature’s acupuncture.

But that was yesterday.

Today the sun follows me as I walk west, back home from my normal routine. Wake up, load a bowl – or like this morning, roll a joint – and walk to the convenient store down the street. The old woman working the register is the only person I see on my journey. She sees me every morning. She asks if I’ve got long before my trip. I grin – I’ve been on a trip my whole life, but this new thing is coming soon – we say goodbye. The sun follows me, burning through the clouds. My mood shifts left and right, up and down with the breaking and forming of the earth’s blankets.
My halves battle over my attention, an epic war constantly fought. Silly. Joint in one hand, energy drink in the other. Halves of a battle in each hand. Halves of a battle for balance.

You used to like my halves
My calves

The sun burns a hole through the clouds, solid beam blasting through my heavy hat.
I smile
The heat brings me back to life
Thaws me out, like the rest of life here
With the coming of spring
I bloom


Thirty Four : Short Lived

Romance is always short lived for me. Doesn’t matter where the blame could be placed, time, life, me, her – whatever. It doesn’t matter.

I’m tired of being “such a good friend”.
I’ve heard it before. I know. I’m a great guy. Someone is gonna come around and knock my socks off. Yup. Thanks… Hoping it was you, but…. yeah.. I know. Thanks. Accomplish great things, huh? Heard that before too; well, look at what I’ve accomplished thus far. Yes, I’m a great guy, you’ve said that already. Hey, how about this? I’ll stop you before you just start running in circles. Let me show you the door, you’re not going to want to see me for a few weeks. Oh, because you’re going to start seeing that guy you’ve been talking about for weeks. So you can be that “someone” for them instead. Me? Yeah, I’ll be fine. This isn’t the first time; sure as hell won’t be the last time.

Look, I grew up an only child – being alone isn’t anything new for me. Yeah, I’ll see ya later.
I’ll be fine, always am.

“I said I’d call, she said she’d write – we lost touch the moment I drove off.”

I’ll have to get a better car. Maybe a house to myself, my own business, a life. Maybe I can keep someone around if they don’t have to build a life with me. If I can just say “hey, want in on all this hard work I’ve done?”

No thanks, I’d rather be alone than let someone crash my party.
Want in? Should have been there for the build up. I’m not a “what’s going to happen at the end” kind of guy. I already know what happens at the end. I’m looking for the content. The beginning; more importantly, the middle – the adventure.

I see all the happiness on Facebook. People getting married, which shouldn’t really bother me – I’m not interested in the common perception of marriage; what’s the point?. “We’re so in love”. The pictures, the happy family moments, the visits from grandparents, holidays, birthdays, baths, puddles. “Look! Baby had so much fun in the snow today.”
I honestly can’t care any more than not at all.
At least I’m not scared of children now.
At least I can be in the same room as a baby (as long as it’s not crying.)

Google, tell me how to deal with this awful Facebook depression. I search for twenty minutes.
There must be a solution.
I write a letter to myself and delete it. Nope, this is the only option.
I write a new letter.

“Facebook,
so long and thanks for all the fish. Unfortunately, you’re nothing but advertisements, game invites, and pictures of other people trying to show that they’re happier and more adventurous than they really are. I don’t need this false sense of community anymore. I don’t need to check up on everyone ever minute of every day. I don’t need to look at my phone and think “wow, my life is so boring compared to the people I know”. The people close to me will contact me and tell me when they’re ready, if they care. So thanks, Facebook, for reminding me what real interactions are. What real connections are. What humanity was, is, and will be. Totally fucked if we keep using things like this.”

The thought of April stirs like a storm. Get me out of here.


Thirty Something : Before I Step Into The Wood

Wake up
The grass is singing
The birds are pecking,
Scratching
Fighting over worms
Wake up
The green grass sings
The pine tree sways, waving hello,
Kicked around in the breeze
Wake up, you’ll feel better when you stand
Your bed is warm, but it is empty
Nothing there but dreams
Wake up
The grass is singing


Thirty Three : Stop, Drop, Roll

I felt like I was on fire.
I felt like I was on fire when I read your tumblr. How is that even a word? “Tumblr”…
But then I started to read it again, most of the way through, half, fuck.
Poems about being cunty and getting fucked.
Other poems too.
Blame and shit talking.
As if none of it had been your fault in the first place. You, such an innocent specimen of the perfect female form.
I’ll giggle at you, but I won’t laugh.

This reminds me how rude you were.
I remember things differently, though I don’t know “who fired first”.
I remember losing my ability to forgive when I realized that you were never going to learn from those mistakes.
I remember when I figured out you’d never be able to love anyone the way they could love you,
Because, though you should love yourself, you shouldn’t love yourself too much. There is a time when you have to realize that a strength has become a weakness.
I remember that that’s when I stopped being in love with you. I remember just loving you.
I remember figuring out what you said when we first started dating.
“I’ve had exes tell me I’m selfish.”
What they must have meant by that.
I remember thinking that the word isn’t “selfish” the word is “self-centered”.
I remember feeling my love being wasted, no matter how much I put in. I remember nothing ever being enough for you. I remember turning cold. I remember being an asshole – each and every time.

Yeah, Squid ate my glasses; yes, I cried, just like I said in my text message. But I didn’t cry because I thought of you and missed you. I cried because Squid had done me the greatest favor. The glasses were one of the last things we had together that she didn’t destroy, gnaw, or irreversibly put her own hell hound mark on to cover up the memories of you and Olive. Squid saved me from you in ways I’m still finding each and every day. I didn’t cry when i burned the “box of Grace’s abandoned shit” in the alley behind the house I was living at. That felt good… That felt damn good. Did you feel that tremble through the earth this summer? Did you feel a part of yourself hurt just a little? No, you’ve locked feelings so deep you don’t know where you put them, haven’t you…?

I’m sad to see that you still hold on to the negative stuff. I’m sorry you’re having a hard time with this too.
I’m sorry that you feel like you “made” me.
Because you didn’t.
You didn’t give birth to me, you didn’t raise me to be polite and to think for myself; more importantly about anyone else. Those are things you’re not capable of instilling on a child, remember? You admitted that to me on so many different occasions. Fuck you were rude.
But what you did was pull me out of a situation that could have gone somewhere and into a situation that you had no intention of letting go anywhere. Because you’re incapable of letting yourself be happy. Because you’re a poet. I’m glad that you did it though, I never would have learned from Mix, who I’m no longer friends with – defending your name, if I might add – and would never have met Poppy, who has become one of the best friends a person can ask for. She really helped clean up a lot of bad habits you left behind.

I’m glad you’re back in Florida, getting back to the life you should have had.
I’m glad I’m still in Oregon, as far away from you as I can be without leaving the country.

I don’t put blame on you, or me, or anyone else. I remember that you left, and I remember why.
I’m glad you left.
I don’t want you back, and I think you’re reading me wrong if you think I do.
Yes, I miss you – but I’m glad you’re not around.
And yeah, I still love you. But even that will fade in time, without seeing you face to face.
Sometime’s people need to know that someone still thinks about them from time to time.
That they’re missed, that in some small way they’re loved.
I’m sad that you don’t have a clue what love can mean.

But seriously, there’s no need to be a bitch.


Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 84 other followers

%d bloggers like this: