My dad used to tell me
That waking up in the middle of the night
meant missing the old house that we once lived in,
although I never remembered exactly
the bricks lining the windows, or the carpet
I set on fire when I was six.

I don’t know what I was thinking back then.
I can never remember too much of my past.  
The trees, and the bees, the fleas on my neighbor’s dog:
All memories buried, gathering dust, hidden in the fog
of the here and now. Like a haze, it filters through my vision
and I am not fast enough to see anything as it flies by.

I remember the bird that you caught in your hands, the flapping wings
and the sound of its echoing rang through the cul-de-sac and my ears.
I remember closing the glass door on your fingers, and I remember how I cried too.
That night I tried to talk to you through the vents, like how we used to, like how
we combined our efforts to catch a glimpse of real magic, of Santa Claus,
of me by your bedside but you thought it was a dream.
We dug up rocks, and sticks, and hid in the shed that broke my front tooth.
And that wasn’t the last time I’ve bit my tongue.

I said, “I did it on purpose,” but I lied.
I didn’t know what it meant back then and
I wish that you would believe me. I wish the memories stuck,
like the pieces of tape you pressed against my skin,
preventing the fake wounds from reopening.  

Can you see me now, in your lucid dreams?
Or am I just a shadowy figure floating between scenes?
Excerpts of memories will find me like déjà vu.
And when you’re thinking of me, know I’m thinking of you.

Third had grace, loveliest, angels face,
Second had music and long, lithest form,
The first was a lark, one amorous affair,
All three are now but phantasm, dream,
The forests dark, memory— lost to me.

strengthisknowingyourplaceintheworld

When I fell for you,
I didn't know
about the scars
that you are bound to get
from being dropped
from such great heights,
and the blood has dried,
and the bruises that were once
beautiful shades
of lavender
have now yellowed
and faded,
but those ******* scars
you've left all over my body
and heart,
they are there
for the long run.

"Today is not my lucky day."
The convicted man wanted to say
But ready or not
He died distraught
And took his secret to the grave.

"Today is not my lucky day."
The convicted man's wife wanted to say
She knew who the killer was
But she was too afraid to say because
Her promise to him she'd not she gave.

"Today is not my lucky day."
The guilty policeman wanted to say
He knew that the man was not the one
Even though he was caught holding the gun
He knew the man he was trying to save.

"Today is not my lucky day."
The twin of the convict wanted to say
As his brother died instead of him
So he went to the police and turned himself in
And though he felt ashamed, he also felt brave.

"Today is not my lucky day."
The mother of the brothers wanted to say
As he buried her sons
And when she was done
She let herself drown in the ocean waves.

That day was not a lucky day
Which everyone kept wanting to say
Instead they hid these feelings
And dealt with life's dealings
And if they hadn't who know who could have been saved.