Thank you for pulling me out of my silence
Into the world of other people for a moment.
It reminded me that my existence needs context
And that people can be something other than
Annoying background noise to my obsessions.

Thank You for ignoring the awkward silence,
And pretending that “uh, yeah”
Is an acceptable answer to any question.
Usually my obvious lack of eye contact
Would discourage the casual conversationalist,
But you took it as a challenge.
And it’s exactly what I needed.

Most of all,
Thank you for taking the time
To be kind to me,
A lonely misfit,
In an indifferent world.
And though it is not worth much,
You have my eternal gratitude.

It's funny that I can so clearly see
The soul you deny you have,
Shining brightly through
Your ocean eyes
And peeking through corners of your smile.
And the softness in your voice
Has such spiritual undertones.
I cannot believe
You are merely skin and bone.


But What do you see?

If all I am is a rush of dopamine,
I wonder why you put up with me
When so many others could facilitate
the same purpose.

How can you love me and
Say that I am nothing?

Mr. Materialist,
What do you mean?

My armor is made of sunny smiles,
The smell of peonies,
And the breeze off of Lake Michigan.
It is made of guitar strings,
Of midnight kisses,
And snowflakes that fall gently on windowsills,

My skin is made of lemon juice,
Prickly burrs,
And tree roots.
It is made of razor blades,
Suspicious stares,
And window shades.

My soul is a tempest,
An angry sea that swallows all
Who have the gall to brave it.
It is a hurricane with a human eye,
Incomprehensible and strange.
It is the wind that
Rips the sails from vessels,
That no God or man can tame.

I've no idea why I write so much
As I have never had a way with words.

And I don't know why I fight so much
When I am genuinely apathetic toward the outcome of most arguments.

I think I get bored.

Maybe I just--

I like to make things dificult.
I like the combination of puzzle and pain.
It gives me something to fill my little brain.
Purpose.
A reason to be awake.

It's like a game.
But not the kind that children play.

More like a contest.
Who can destroy themselves the fastest?
Except the only prize is self denial and
If  you are lucky--
A bit of Jack to wash away the lonliness.  

A miserable existence, I know.
I live it,
Because I still have this ridiculous hope

That the empty chair in the kitchen will
Save me from myself.

I'm a senseless,
Rambling,
Fool.

I am of the north country.
Sure feet and sealed lips.
Born on the shore of lake superior
And carried off by the wind.

It takes guts to live like this
And maybe a little bit of a mental illness.
Keen senses and good instincts.
Always with a foot on the gas.

I've seen a lot,
maybe more than I should have.
But life is a learning experience,
and I've had a few laughs.

Things have changed.
People have gone.
It's been years since I've heard the cold wind'ssong
Or been trapped under five feet of snow,
But this place still feels like home.

Where else am I going to go?

Some things stay the same.
I'd take cold, northern civility
Over southern hospitality
Any day.

Time is not my master
He cannot order me to forget.
Nor is he my doctor.
My wounds are remnants of the dead.

As long as blood seeps they
Live through me in memory.

I made a vow in love
A promise, an oath
That I would never let go.
I wouldn't break it.
Not for all the happiness in the world.

I have known the sweetest love
How could I let it fade into the abyss of time?
How could I do that and live with myself?

I love how this town empties out at night.
How the buildings take on a life of their own.
With all the people gone they can
Breathe
And finally so can I.
Ironically
I feel a lot less lonely when I'm alone.

I wonder if someday I'll turn to stone,
Like Lot's wife turned to  a pillar of salt.
Only, I imagine it would be a bit less dramatic.
More like falling asleep and becoming part of a park bench.
In any case, I think I'd like that.

I wonder why I write these things
And who I am writing to
Immortalizing my thoughts here
In black ink on the back of a used
Envelope.
I guess I hope someone will find it someday.
I just wish I had something more profound to say than

That tree had blossoms on it last week
And now they've disappeared.