This Time Around...

i saw a lady on the train and she was crocheting, and it was the first couple of stitches, and i could see her struggling - i guess that's how it goes in the beginning. but maybe sometimes it's worth it to scrap everything and restart. a few snips here, tugs there. and she has been around the block, collapsible cane and everything. pills on her sweats, sweat on her brow.

god bless<3>>

i am 22 years, 2 weeks, so many days, minutes, etc.

and time flies, or speeds by - whether you're having fun or none at all.

the deep stains of time can come out, when you're willing

motionless behavior though is unacceptable, and not truly cleanly.

the seats quickly empty, i see the indentations of spaces where people were sitting. and i know i'm random but i have a feel for the future that will unfold ahead - just not in depth. if we were in person i'd wink right now.

but back to that lady. she was concentrated and it was still difficult, but she, better than us all, knew it was work towards a masterpiece, her masterpiece - probably a doily.

as i prepare myself for situations and things like them i realize i'm nothing more than a pantry filled with rotten foods that must be vacated so the fields outback can grow and then when i harvest they'll sustain what little bit of life i have left, but none of what's been left behind. soulmates only die. so don't try to read to deep into words like forever, always, and love - they're trumped by lust and desire. and we don't give as many second chances as we'd make it out to be.

Psst Hey You, Up Here

i sit and wait for you on the roof top, that way i'll know earlier when you arrive. i can see so far out, past towns. past all the roads that interlock. but those roads they spill and nothing is there to catch them, but they bring you to me. i consider them my friends. and when you finally make it i turn on the stove. and i'm cooking you shrimp, but when i look down they're sardines, and i'm wondering who is gonna eat that - i wouldn't even let you get a look at them.
the good lord made a mistake making me ever let my eyes set on you.

i consider how badly i'm screwed, then i look at you, and my body becomes graced with a presence you must know so well. the riddle that makes my anxiety is shallow, and i bear it. i knowingly engage in this relationship blindly.

you won't stay into night, you say "the afternoon is long enough." i know no length. i can't even measure. in my head every single thing is forever. i discard nothing, it all remains, and however untouched it always stays fresh.

and when sometimes i do something that resembles a smile, i know it only has to do with you. and that the pain i've survived somehow lended itself to helping me learn to smile. to smile and mean it. to smile and want it more, to wish i could all the time. feel that way. and i'm not wise enough to know if it's love, or just a sample. a rendering of something much more potent, and too the point.
requited love that cuts the head off and watches the body run a muck.
i'm unsure why i make this all up.

They Reminded Me Of Gma & Gpa

the world is a wonderful place. it's mid-november and the sun is still warm.

the diversity within mankind must make mother nature proud. for when i got on the train today i sat across from a man and woman and before i could even sit down i heard him say "i shoulda worn a shirt and tie," she shot back "we're going to get drugs." my interest peaked and i asked them what kind of drugs (although i had a pretty good idea), when they told me heroin i told them i figured. a glimpse into the next twenty minutes, pre-transfer, would include her talking about how all her "blades" got taken away, how his ex-wife is dead (the big C), her ex-husband calls her for sex, and the quote "they shouldn't call it coke, they should just call it more!"

when i transferred at Babylon i made sure to avoid them, not out of discontent, but rather because i had some reading to do.

now across from me is an elderly lady and as i'm reading my text she says "excuse me dear can you open this", she reaches out and hands me a Poland Spring water bottle and adds "bad wrist." i open it with ease and give it back to her, she says thanks.

and then i'm prompted to write this. because happiness takes the same form in all types of individuals. can you recognize it?

Swimming Through Concrete

on the way home i passed an empty pool. i suddenly pictured all the melancholy you remind me of. the lack of substance. what i was bound to jump into. a slide show of all the awful you bring to mind. i snap myself out of it, i almost feel bad. it really is unbelievable. as i walk towards my house i start to do so with rhythm. i picture all the saucy faces you make come to my mind. i can't comprehend that you never lost your balance, never once punctured the perfect picture. that's when you remind me of snow on top of a school bus, and why winter makes you feel only the realest emotions, the ones that carry on in a person. and you're so proud, you never lead on even an inch. you make me want to take my thoughts and shove them in a blender. tear them all apart so they can't be placed back together. i wonder what i bring to mind, how i make you feel. like what you say when people ask you how i am. the images that come to mind, if you wish you knew the answer. and how little i did that you knew was for you. i was just an outlet you chose for that moment.

now i feel myself trying to swin, and what a disaster. the concrete is ripping my bones apart, and the blood isn't nearly enough to fill this pool up to let me rise up and drag myself out. and it might stain but no one will see it. we won't spend too much time with the empty. tired memories that don't rage if you won't let them. the debris of bone is basically me, the divider between the shallow and deep is right at my fingertips, i can almost touch it. but i'm losing consciousness and gaining nothing.

i meant nothing and that's what comes to mind. something you had hand picked you tossed out.

They Said, "I Was Meek."

i make one thousand different faces, i save them for all the different moments. so i can out do you. and you wage a war with your working class grin. and you don't pick up on it but everyone finds you to be a mediocre person, nothing special. and i'm tempted to walk right up to you and laugh, i'd like to make you cry. but that's when you'd go into a dance, sidestepping all of everything real that i've asked you to relinquish, to reveal. undo those buttons, and take off that top - what's the problem? is your skin stretched too thin, are you scared to admit you're a regular and the trash company you keep can't bring you down because you're already there? but you're a soldier - the heavy armor is wearing you out, weighing you down. it's a fascinating problem. and all the witnesses to the scripts of you and i, kept themselves distant and perched at a height neither of us could climb. and you sat still as they dissected every bit of all the inches that brought us here, and you never once interrupted, tried to silence the curses these people brought forth. it poisoned us, and tortured me. i was muted by people who would never advocate for us. and one specific time, i knew what you were getting to. i couldn't look you in the eye, i stared down and buttoned my winter jacket, avoiding their questions coming from your mouth - they started a fire that i couldn't douse. i was meek.

I'll Turn Down The Heat With The Promise You'll Keep Me Warm

i'm so turned on by the sunless sky, the effortless clouds strung about. it reminds me that i might see you in another life, one we don't know right now. where the trees grow from the sky and houses sit on sponges and when you pass by you're enthralled by all the distaste of everyone living inside. and our mother passes out pamphlets reminding the masses of a savior. that's my cue, i hide from no one, in front of nobody. i'll stay like this through winter when i'll come out so you can see my breath, proof enough that i'm alive cause you said you can't see my body of lies. at first i thought you were being figurative but then you looked pass me.

sometimes i wish i could write this story from your point-of-view but i remember you're a shell of a human and you'd probably describe it all in one word.

and i guess it all inflates my hopes, and then i pass the place where you work all day into night. i see you through the window, try and recreate your day. i worship your interests and i'm smitten with your speech. no matter how i change the story, it always ends with the same conclusion, i don't blame you for not seeing much in me. you're pleasant and i'm really not. but you wear your clothes too tight, haha. i can still laugh behind your back.