The things I miss the most
From the life we never lived

I supercharge every thought, every idea.
I pursue each concept and emotion to their ultimate possible conclusion(s).
I excite every particle to impossible speeds, spinning and colliding, combining and fusing.
Old painful emotions combine with new jarring thoughts and,
WHAM!
A new element is created.  
It is violent and eviscerating evolution at breakneck speeds.
And it never ceases.
Or slows.
It's not all bad though,
As I said, new elements are always being created,
New concepts,
Differing perspectives,
Brand-spanking-new thoughts created from the raging fires of the old.
I am far too logical to discard a thought, however painful.
It must be run through the particle accelerator,
Again and again,
Until it collides with so many other ideas
That it is completely obliterated,
By the formation of a new and superior understanding.

Won't the future be nice?
So many benefits of modern technology.
You don't have to go grocery shopping,
Heck, your fridge can order for you now!
Cameras inside the washer and dryer, 'cause yeah.
You can even order casual companionship with an app.
Won't be long before we'll be able to match genomes online,
Probably interconnected with your social media and dating sites of choice,
No need to talk, or even meet, your phone just beeps and you know:
You've found the perfect mate!
Modern convenience folks, step right u-
Oh wait, no, stay home, get married right from your couch!
What's wrong you have the perfect mate, the perfect job, perfect home(s), 1.312 kids, 2.617 pets-
Love???
There's probably an app for that...

I grew up moving from place to place,
Usually about once a year.
It is very difficult for a child to form friendships,
When they are never in the same school two years in a row.
Military brats go through this, I'm told.

My childhood was a series of disasters and moves.

Like the apartment building in Alexandria that caught on fire every other weekend.
Where my step-dad lost control of the car and tried to stop by sticking his foot out of the door.
My sister almost died from an allergic reaction to soap.
I fell off the jungle-gym and nearly bit off my lower lip.

We moved.

The townhouse in burke where my step-dad went through the sliding glass door, face-first.
Where he got Tiger, the 75 lb. German Sheppard,
Who was crazy and scared the **** out of us constantly.
Let's see what else?
I knocked my sister out of a second-story window,
Our babysitter was a ******,

We moved.

The townhouse in Fairfax where I first saw my step-dad hit my mother,
Where we lived when they divorced.
This is where we lived when the 300 lb. redneck enjoyed trying to **** me on a daily basis.
Our college student tenant had to stand up for me.

We moved.

Basically to make a long story short, not a lot of ****** stability in my childhood.

Disaster.

Move on.

Every single adult relationship continued this pattern.

Whether this is because I unconsciously seek out these situations, I don't know.

Probably.

I sometimes think that people need their disasters, so they have a reason to give up.

I am sick of disasters.
I am tired of moving on.
I am sick and tired of giving up.

And of being given up on.

It is a painful, strengthening, heart-breaking, uplifting, terrifying, enlightening, emptying, and fulfilling journey through horror and wonder.

Leading one inevitably towards confrontation with oneself.  

It is the path to balance.

squeak

squeak  squeak

Megaphone Clicks

I SAID:  I MISS YOU!

I feel like some of these small pathetic creatures

crawling around under lash and disdain

forced to listen to droning treatises on how to fly

used to be birds

Daaaaamn gurl,

You got a **** brain on you!

Just wanna give a shout out to my mom and dad,

Who got married a full 3 months before I was born,

But despite whose valiant efforts,

I still turned out to be a *******.

I know, ultimately, it's true what they said,
That when it all comes down, we make our own beds,
Now we're adults, let's mess up the covers by jumping like kids,
I know we've a long way to go, but there's a life to be lived!

Dear Rapture,

It's been so many years, I'm so sorry to intrude,
I've so many things to say, but I've no desire to be rude,
I've tried to keep me locked away, during our long interlude,
I guess I've done okay, but so much has happened, and it isn't all good.

How are you?  I hope things are well.  I think about you, you know.
What've you been up to? Do tell! I haven't heard a word since so long ago.
I don't want to renew a war, but I had to either reach out or explode,
Tact's gone right out the door, for hope our hearts had adjacent zip codes.

What ever happened to you, what did you think, I wonder constantly,
You said give you space, or was it time, or was it just a slow-burn for me?
I always gave you the benefit of the doubt, but I just don't know lately...
I toss and turn, this garden bed feels like a grave, forgotten and buried.

The distance between us is further than any airline has ever been,
I'm sure that, like me, you've felt it growing since our relationships end.
I know we both hurt, we lost so many truths in all the confusion,
And I feel like the biggest loser of all because I lost my best friend.

If I sent this letter off, tear-stained and folded into a paper plane,
If it prevailed on the Trade Wind and soared away to your windowpane,
If it tapped ever-so-lightly, would you let it in or would you refrain?
Would you turn it away, unread, to dissolve in the Cascadian rain?

Maybe I'm hoping beyond hope, a delusional version of Lion-O's sight,
I just had to try one last time before we drift off into that long goodnight,
Though I go not gently, I'm no devil and I've no desire to cause a fright,
But hell, I'd wrestle all the angels in heaven if it was a question of might.

Well, I guess there's nothing I can do but fold it up and throw it hard,
Try not to shed a rogue tear when the movie gets to that part,
And whenever the clock says 2:22, 3:38, or 11:11, I'll wish on a star,
Truly, I just want you to know I care,

I love you,
Sincerely,
From,
Afar

Pooky,

I love you
I miss you
I want you
I need you

You are every hope
You are every dream
You are my only wish

Renegade, rebel, foul-mouthed malcontent
Abused, abandoned, discarded, youth misspent
Smoker, toker, poem-writing music maker
***-sellin', ****-it-oh-wellin', no-****-taker

I'd probably have had a criminal empire if I'd kept my course
Instead of being an estranged father and statistic of divorce
Unemployable, unstable, emotionally unavailable basket-case
Polo-shirt-khaki-wearin' fashion-victim of the corporate rat race

I coulda been a gangsta, a rocker, an actor, or even a ****-star
It woulda been easy with my childhood and my broken-*** heart
I coulda had money, mansions, cars, endless drugs, and ***-on-tap
Instead, I gave that all up for a hopeless hope and a lonely fap

I guess that sounds kinda pathetic, but even that's alright
Because it won't be long before little man yells, "Dad, let's play Fortnite!"

This heartbreak was an incantation,
Rumor and influence and imitation.
Malevolent power channeled through,
Assumptions and lies deftly hewn.
Harsh runes gouged into bedrock,
Strong shoulders disfigured by stony bulk.
Fault lines grinding thoughts to dust,
Eldritch-enspelled entropy engraving rust.
Mortally wounded by arrival unreported,
Time and space...     by distance distorted.
Lost and found, wreckage on stormy sea,
Seeking our love, stolen in infancy.

A garden trowel in a patch of irradiated weeds

An odometer in an endless maze of MickeyD's

An encyclopedia in a pawn shop full of tweakers

A love song on a boombox with broken speakers

May I present several examples of useless things with nothing to do

Now if you think those're bad, you should see what I'm like...

Caution: Objects in poems are deeper than they appear.

The more shallow it looks, the deeper it is.

Please wear your life vest at all times,

And may we take this moment to highly recommend the buddy system?

We happen to have one available if you are unable to locate a buddy.  😊

Time is always in the past

Even now

Is in the past

Now

All the years I will spend waiting

Will eventually be one with

All the years I have spent waiting

Still, I will wait

Very Zen...

But it's not because I am patient

I am not a patient boy  hums Fugazi

Or some studied guru or master of meditation

Nor am I Rip Van Winkle, for that matter

But if you ask me if I'm waiting, the answer is as it has always been:

Yeah, I'm waiting....

Are you afraid to get close to me,

Because I'm not how you expected I'd be:

Because I'm not what you told yourself to see?

Could it be that you avoided remembering me?

Though my heart was dead long ago,

This ******,

Through my chest,

It is as the first.

Though I knew long ago,

The break of trust,

Denies me rest,

Heart smoldering, mind cursed.

She set me on fire and asked, "Why's it so hot in here."

Ya know...

If that most famous pair of star-crossed lovers had only possessed cell phones,

Things might have gone much differently.

In the story, Samson is said to lose his power when his hair is cut, breaking his vow.

I think he was wrong about his hair, and the actual source of his power was his love.

I think he lost his power the moment he realized Delilah had betrayed him.

Not when she betrayed him, nor when she cut his hair, but only once he realized what she had done, see?

So at the end of the story, when Samson gets his strength back, it happens not because he grows his hair, but because he forgives Delilah.

His hair was only a metaphor for his faith (in God, love, women, and Delilah in particular)...

Anyway, I'm growing my hair out.

You enchanted the moon, didn't you?

Or bribed her?  Maybe you promised her a star or two?

She hunts me with Orion's bow, pacing behind shadowed cloud,

My celestial stalker ridin' low, warily wrapped in misty shroud.

She whispers stark and yet, soft as a breeze on an April afternoon,

Press on now, my pet.  You've done so well, we'll sleep again soon,

But we've a fortnight to go if we're to come full circle by month's end.

So many dreams still to sow... To reap those lupine howls once again.

She waxes and I wane, she mystifies with madness then soothes me sane.

Serenity to insanity, delirious depravity to moon-magicked majesty,

A cosmic clockwork cycle muddling my mind with lunar gravity.

She pushes me to righteous malice and pulls me to solstice solace,

She masters tides in her caprice, what hope has a malcontent apprentice?

It's not an altar

If I don't worship upon it

(Even if I still whisper prayers)


It's not a pedestal

If you don't stand atop it

(Only, I still look up to you)


It's not a quest

If you're no princess

And I'm no hero

(Yet, I still seek out dragons)


It's not a dream

If there's no hope

(And I still wake a million miles from you)

They say one's life is supposed to flash before one's eyes prior to the moment of death.

When I go, I hope I have time to get to the part where we met...

I wanna fall in love with you all over again.

looks at clock

2:20

phew, nothin

2 minutes before...

wait, ****

looks at clock

2:37

phew, nothin

wait, 1 min before 2:38, but that's nothin, it would have to be 3:38

phew

wait, that's 1:01 before 3:38

****

Next best thing to crying...

Telling someone how you feel.

Next best thing to dying...

When they don't believe you're real.

Expecting my hands to be soft,

Is understandable,

Not seeing the scars there,

That's classic.

They'll tell you how beautiful are your wings,

While they bind your pinions and strip your feathers.

"So graceful and so precious!  Such lofty, ethereal things,"

The words like rusty chains, cracked leather-sentiment tethers.

They'll tell you, "Rise above the sorrow, fly from the pain,"

After they teach you to clip your own wings so you won't fall,

And when the confusion sets in they'll be the first to tell you you're sane.

"People can't fly," they'll say, and point to the wings nailed to their wall.

In Soviet Russia,

Consequence face YOU.

So my therapist asked me, "Would you want her to read your poems?"

I feel like there's a poem in that somehow,

but I'm too heartbroken over it to write it,

because the truth is I don't know the answer...

I mean she doesn't know me and I fear she never really did

but I also would not want her to be hurt by my words,

yet still, if she doesn't understand then she is already being hurt by the unknown, the lack of understanding, by the misunderstanding itself:

it's a paradox.

Ah shiny approval,

Warm and soothing on the skin,

Absorbed like a lizard,

When one is hypervigilant.

Cruisin the interwebs the other day,

And I saw someone call a He a She and call them both gay.

Maybe I picked the wrong week to quit trollin, but I was dyin to say:

Are you too limited on intellect to pronounce Them or They,

Or is your empathetic deficit a debt other People should pay?

But the fact is, We are all actors on the same stage in this play,

And sometimes We all need someone to show Us the way.

🐭🧀

I am a mouse tempted by scent of cheese,

                                                        ­      I am a little lever,
                                                    by wightish weight released.

                                                                     I am the
                                                          daring
                                             domino,

         Tip me over and off I go,

Tapping-time-toppling
                                        just as mapped,

                                                       Chain reactions
                                                                ­               crashing
                                                                ­                          choreographed.

                                                 ­               I am the ball bearing on its
                                                                ­                                     tilted track,

                                                         ­            Precariously poised
                                                                ­    awaiting that last flat

                                                               ­               CRACK!

                                                       ­    Startling astart at starting gun,

Gravity-well-willing I wobbly-spin-roll-run,

                                          ­                Back and forth I wander like a top,

Dizzily confused when off the end I
                                                                ­     plop.

                                                  It's alright, everyone, I'm okay,

This cup was here to catch me...              luckily.

                                                  Ah, I'm the cup too, of course,

                                      Rattling 'round rampant without remorse.

                              It's not a problem, I've already served my purpose,

                                  Ball-bearing-brained, I was useful for impetus.

                                  Downward-driven delivering incidental dues,

                         I am now the toy robot set off on a cruise,

               Wheels turning, less one brain (lest I hurt myself)

        Wound-up tight only to travel the length of a shelf.

Gears ground, I spark-stumble-halt,

      I've kicked the bucket, but it's nobodies fault:

                I'm also the water cascading through air,

                                                           ­   Splashing happily,
                                                        but predictably,
                                                   to be fair.

                            Sloppily graceful I stick the landing,

Releasing the cage, design-demanding.

                      Mouse
                       lever
                     domino
                        ball
                        cup
 ­                      robot
                      water
                       cage

I might even be the little mouses tiny outrage.

It seems I was all the pieces of the trap I set,

Honestly, everything fits just fine, except:

We seem to be missing one of the architects.

I just wanted to say to all you awesome HP poets, that I'm sorry I don't comment as much as I should.  

First, I have pretty bad anxiety, so if I try and comment I usually have to write and rewrite it like 50 times, decide not to say anything, feel guilty, and then, ultimately, just say something like, "Awesome."

Second, I feel like I have to conserve my awesomes, cause at some point, they're gonna run low, and I'm gonna have to resort to saying "Rad," or "Radical..."

Aaaand then someone is gonna be like, "***, who's grandpa is this?  ARE YOU OK OLD GUY?  Someone better come get him..."

I remember learning about Japanese culture in elementary school.

They taught us to say a few words, told us some Japanese stories, we learned how to fold Origami, and we got to try sushi and some Japanese candies.  

It was one of those cultural-week things.  It was cool.

Anyway, I remember at one point the teacher was telling us how every inflection matters when speaking Japanese, and that saying a word with the wrong inflection can turn it into a great insult.  

I remember thinking, "Wow, it must be really hard to speak Japanese."

Only now, when I'm almost 45 years old, do I realize it is literally no easier to speak American English or any language for that matter.

Every inflection counts, every word counts.  There are uncountable ways to insult someone, and indeed to be insulted, and the path to speaking (or writing) without unwittingly tossing out insults like candy (don't throw sushi, it's very messy) is a narrow one.

This is especially true when writing about something painful.  I try (but probably still fail) to be sure when I write I [attempt to] take that into account.

So, anyway. I just wanted to say, that if I have said something to offend you, such was not my intention.

Just sayin, y'all be careful with that thur 'Murican English, it's loaded!

I suppose the knife was used,

More like a tool,

But having been stabbed in the chest,

To not consider it a weapon,

We'd be thought the fool,

So to give the story that final deft twist,

We were convinced the blade didn't exist,

It's a scenario Kaiser Soze simply couldn't resist.

The idea of living life, not just surviving, but actually LIVING life,

Is like the idea of Angels or Miracles or Night-visiting-aliens:

I've heard stories, but it's never actually happened to me.

-Scratches face-

"Y'all got any more of them rhymes?"

-Scratches face-

"I'll give ya a cheeseburger for some rhymes!"

-Scratches face-

Ladies and gentlemen,

Please keep your arms and legs

Safely inside the poetry at all times.

Please don't fall into the black hole,

We know it's very attractive,

But our insurance rates will just be unmanageable

If we lose another one...

I've got dyslexia,

I'm ADHD, and

I write poetry.

It's like a drunk,

One-eyed idiot

Trying to herd cats

That are on ****.

I take a whole week to celebrate my birthday,

Just to make sure I don't sweep it under the rug.

And I've worn a mask what feels like my whole life,

But October is, by far, my least favorite holiday.

In Soviet Russia,

God believe in YOU.

In Soviet Russia,

Kids raise YOU.

See, the thing about lies is,

They just don't make for very good poetry.

Poetry works just fine if the words don't rhyme,

But it's worthless if the sentiment doesn't.