what a ridiculous,
and isn’t that sad?
even Jesus wept
lost opportunities are, well
and usually they’re very beautiful
and I look back at them and smile,
and here’s the funny part,
they’ll wave back
Is it possible to miss
someone never met?
Sometimes I can feel it
like a nibble, nibble at my stomach.
A tearing, ripping at my heart.
I can feel the puncture of my lungs
as my breathing panics.
Can’t you tell by my smile?
There’s something inside,
that doesn’t want out.
It doesn’t want out.
Thought I’d mentioned
This is what it’s like
To be alone
Can’t you hear?
As they entangle
In myriad branches
Of my brain
Do you remember?
A corner booth. Your hand in mine. The winter air; cold. Christmas lights and I, I believed in heaven.
Just ordering food, and I feel anxious. Social anxiety? I don’t know.
For some people being brave is saving the world. For me being brave is ordering food.
Hey, hey! I ordered my own lunch today! I did it bravely, like facing a hideous monster, with only my bare hands.
It’s been a successful day.
"I’m a vampire
the people she’s kissed
so full of quality,
are my relief
and I’m fat”
so, she says,
“now, you’ll never fly
Why do my hands shake? Why can’t I hold the camera still? Will I remember your face as a blur and a cloud?
Why does my memory tremble? Why do I see you in glimpses? Why is my mind weak and my heart fragile?
Is that where the sadness began? Did my hands shake on the very first day, the day you went away?
Or was it your hands, that shook on that very first day? Did you tremble as you held me? Did you see my tiny shaking hands and despair? Did you know that I’d be too much like you? Did you know that the world is so strong and so violent?
Did you have a shaking camera to hold? A way to remember? Do you ever see my face as a blur and a cloud?
Why do my hands shake?
It took all of his strength to push open the window. The brisk cold of the outside greeted him instantly, the curtains fluttered, embracing, they seemed to want to pull him back inside to the warmth. He resisted.
Tommy, that’s what they had named him. He often thought that someday when he was older, he’d be called Thomas, or just Tom. Sometimes he wondered if he had a real name somewhere out in the cold, a name whispered by his father before he died. When he was younger he would constantly worry that his mother would come back one day looking for him, calling him by a different name, a name he didn’t know. He worried, mostly at nights, when the others were sleeping, or on long afternoons sitting on a faded bench that looked towards the gate and the street beyond.
The orphanage depended on the good will of others; this explained the small meal portions and the worn clothes he received every year. He didn’t complain, it was the only life he knew, the only name he knew, the only life he’d ever known.
He pulled on a tattered sweater and a jacket over it, the only ones he owned. Quietly he made his way out the window. He was ready; he’d find his name, the real one. He resisted.
It’s early, overcast; no sign of the sun today, the clouds are brooding. I miss yesterday. We meet at our normal table, for a quick coffee before the day begins. She’s smiling, happy, her eyes sparkling as usual, hiding a sadness that we’ve only spoken of twice. I don’t bring it up, I don’t know how to. I try to soak it all in, her smile, the positivity, the sparkle in her eyes.
Every morning we speak of dreams and adventures, travelling and mostly just happiness. We speak of seeing the world, of never being in one place for too long; idealistically we imagine a world full of peace and beauty. I’ve always thought that with her I’d be brave enough, adventurous enough, to climb those mountains, learn to swim those deep oceans with the frightening waves, that with her I’d lose my fear of heights.
I try my best to hide my negativity, the pessimism; being “care-free” is a lot of effort. Maybe we’re similar in this, but she’s better at it. At times I tire of hiding away for days at a time, just to be able to face another week. She makes it better somehow.
She reaches for my hand, “hey, we’re happy, we’re together. Today of all days, be thankful.”
I walk, much
Push, shove, move
The wrong way
Yet, standing still
Without your gun
An iron soldier
Upon frozen steed, he
Dragon tongue, he
Waves as his reward
The dragon, and I