How dare you. How dare you Take what I’ve Told you, Take my struggles, And try to subvert it, To say it’s just Because I’m not With you. My anxieties Are not caused By being apart From my family, And I don’t Come home Every weekend Because I “need to” For me. Don’t project Your feelings Onto me. I’m not “Putting on a brave face”, When I walk Out your Front door. I promise, I feel better Anywhere else.
Restlessness. What else could this feeling be described as? The feeling that there’s more To being alive than slogging through The bills and loans and gas-station fill ups. Making money just to spend it On remaining a functioning Member of society; A product with the blessing Of a bachelor’s degree.
Sword and serpent, Stylus and sparrow, None are stronger Than the other When swords don’t spill ink, When pens Don’t slay enemy. Still serpents Can’t fly above, And sparrows Can’t slither under. Each has its own purpose, To be used when Discerned to be proper.
The warmness of fairy lights, And temptation of Moose Munch. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, (Mechanically tearing out pages from a hymnal). To love so much is a strength, To love so much is an Achilles heel.
The world outside continues to rush, Thoughts continue to cycle with no rest. Time feels suspended at the moment, (But the stack of torn pages grows). To love so much is rejuvenation, To love so much is exhaustion.
Something is gnawing down hard, Somewhere within these unquiet bones. A sense of urgency painstakingly released, (A sixteenth of a hymnal instead of any other). To love so much is commanded, To love so much is condemned, (Robotically tearing out pages).
“Important: Do you think humans are better at creating or destroying?”
“It’s a binary thing? Either we create or destroy? Creating def. If humans are made in the image of God, then they create innately. Destruction is the byproduct.”
“Well, obviously we have a tremendous amount of power and are capable of both. But I’ve been trying to figure out what human beings are most inclined to do. You raise valid points.”
“In art you have to destroy to create. That’s what I was taught by this one old teacher named Churchill Davenport (kickass name). That just meant that even if you like some precious little brushstrokes you did, you’re probably gonna have to paint over it, so don’t get too attached. And while we’re at it, we might as well rip it into 4 pieces and collage it. It might look better…I destroy and create so evenly I never finish anything.”
It isn’t liquor, He reminds himself, The remainder of a blunt Passed on to another, But the high only Drags him further down. He’s done this once before, He can do this again, He hates this crutch He fooled himself into. Good riddance to Inebriation, Andy.
He lost his best friend, All five stages of grief And then some seemed To sucker punch him At once. But now he’s feeling Each one by turn. He knows he got lucky, That could have been him, But how could this death Be any part of a plan? He’s aware he’s too Steeped in this loss To be aware of those Around him still, But he can’t quite Pull himself out of this, And reach for them. This is grief, Andy.
Sitting on the night dark Front steps of AA, He reflects on What brought him here. Drinking career Starting at 13, Need to escape Showed him The bottom of A bottle Way too many times. He wants change; He wasn’t ready, Last time. Sick of Oblivion, Andy.
The ushers still Call him by nickname; He’s a familiar face now And she’s gotta know more. Cocoa cup conversation Reveals his past And his predicament. He is searching, But not quite sure What for. This pothole sucks but Keeps him safe from The traffic overhead. If he moves, He’s sure to be knocked Further down, Amongst the Disappointment, Guilt, Anxiety, Depression, And fear. He asks why not more.
An instantaneous mist gathers At a glance through glass door. In dim artificial candlelight A vulnerable figure kneels. Conversing deeply yet silently With evident devotion. The moment feels too intimate To witness from carpet-rooted stance. This lobby is too close And too far at once. A role-model servant Exuding authentic but gentle masculinity. The feeling of choking and peace Is caused by this stolen sight.
Casseroles, All over, Green bean, Pineapple, Sweet potato, And noodle. Silt-murky rivers, Reddish clay ground, Work your own land And help out your Neighbors. Chainsaws, axes, And ride-on mowers. A handgun on every Bed-side table, And a shotgun on the Mantle, Let the dogs go, They know their way home. Aberdeen, Mississippi.
500 track, Massive 2 floor Convention center. Abstract art Torch And chipmunk squirrel Crossbreeds In parks spaced between Towering buildings and The longest city streets. Indianapolis, Indiana.
Personality bigger than her, She’s not afraid to speak Love and Truth. She works hard, Laughs hard, Plays hard. A goofball And a listener, A Tumblr girl And a writer. Protective, Loyal, Compassionate, My best friend. And I’m lucky To know her.
Using chalk Sparingly And wearing the World’s Cutest Shoes (Ever). I’ve been told Humans weren’t Built to be Mountain Goats Or bats, But that won’t Stop me From trying.
She was your first date, first love, the first one you wanted to build a home and have a family with.
She was your first.
She was the first to meet your family. She became part of your family. She was the first girl your mother loved for you.
Yes,she was your first in many things but she, too, was your first heartbreak.
She was the first one to build you up and break you down. She knew you as much as you know yourself.
She may be your first but she will never be me.
She will never be the one who would pick you up when you think that you would never get back up because she wasn’t even there when you needed her.
No matter what she does, she’ll never be able to love you as much as I do.
She’ll never know you more than I know you. She could never make you realize that you are worthy of every love one should give. She could never make you feel any happier and more contented.
My love, I know that I should never compare myself to her because there’s a reason why she’s there and I am here with you now.
I hate you for always being there for her as much as I want you to be with me. I hate the way you look onto her, the way you hold her because for a moment, I felt like she was holding my universe. I hate it when you always have to leave me just because you will need to fetch her and ask her out. I hate the fact that even when you left me, I am still a fool waiting for you to return. I hate it when you ask me about what she likes, about the things that make her uncomfortable, I hate it when you always pay attention to the things she love to do, while I am stuck here, seeing how persistent you are on waiting for her. I hate the smile you wear as her name flashes your screen. I hate the way you misses her. I hate the way you talk to her, I hate the way you bring her name on our conversation. I hate the way you tell me how much you love her and the things you are willing to risk for her. I hate it. I hate how dense you are. I hate the fact that after all these years, you never noticed me, but I am still clinging onto you. I hate the fact that I love you as much as you love her. I was here even before she came and I will probably be here if she decided to leave you one morning. The fact that I have to support your love for her and I can’t compete with her because she’s way better than me, slowly kills me.
I was waiting for you to look at me too, but maybe I will stay like this, loving you in silence.
