breaking

i'm tired of everyone breaking up.
breaking hearts, breaking connections, breaking
free of the confines of "nothing is working".
broken vows and broken promises leaving
broken pieces for someone else to pick up.
i'm tired of picking up.

henceforth may we all drink from the same chalice
and wake up entwined as the human spirit.
henceforth let us leave our promises and vows
in our hearts where they can't hurt anyone else.
henceforth we shall not fear the falling -
into pieces that cannot be put back together
because we are guarding that which can break us.

Your Protector

I met my destroyer on the train.
He was gaunt and wearing a trash bag blanket.
His eyes were bloodshot-tired.
He could barely speak.
I knew him instantly - he was born in my soul, after all.
He once broke my heart without trying.
He is now broken.

I met my rival at the front door.
She said, "I came to warn you ... he's not worth fighting for."
Her eyes were cold-calculated.
She could barely stand
- still, I knew her instantly.
She was standing where I used to, after all.
She once took without trying.
She is now taken.

I met my truth inside my home.
He was bearded and naked.
His eyes were kind-comfort.
He could barely catch his breath.
He spoke instantly - truth keeps nothing hidden after all.
He once saved me without even trying.
I am now saved.

clocks

all the clocks are melting
like i'm living in a
salvador dali painting.

even the metronomes can't keep time.

each carefully measured step,
filled with uncertainty--
conductor-less.

these days are unplanned phrases.

heart beats are telling
signals of tempo
with which to guide plans.

i have lost track of time.

it's better to just breathe,
in three part harmony
with the wind and the moon phases.

all of the clocks are melting.

somehow i get lost
and forget to keep
time when i am with you.

maybe

maybe there's too much on the table.
maybe decay has set in.
maybe we just didn't have enough time to finish and it's too late now.
maybe trying will make us sick.
maybe that's the way it's supposed to be.
maybe we've had enough.
maybe there's no room for more.
maybe we don't even want more.
maybe that's ok.
maybe.

thanksgiving

my stinging eyes see blurr-ed edges of tiny cities made of empty promises,
and all the little people, eating someone else's sacrifices, sitting at their tiny tables whilst their minds roam.
they are inside their tiny houses.
today they feast and give empty thanks.
tonight is for libations and debauchery.

my blurr-ed mind stings with slight reminders of empty promises.
and all the little notes, their tiny words meaning-less and less, ignite my collection of tiny sacrifices.
they are scattered on my torso.
today they smolder in my vacant chest.
tonight is for breathing without lungs.

not myself

I can't get out of my head today.
Every time I try to leave, I'm overcome with the feeling that I've forgotten something.
I go room to room, in my head.
- throwing pillows
-lifting papers
-sifting through pieces of me, strewn about my bedroom.
I get the feeling that what I'm looking for is myself. I seem to have forgotten parts in every room.

How can one person hold onto so much stuff?

Frantically, I search for my missing pieces, just to get out of my mind for a minute.
It's like trying to leave the house and thinking you left the stove on -- even if you can convince yourself you turned it off, a part of you will keep reminding you that your house is burning down.

You can't get very far with one foot in the door.

So maybe it's just better to stay in my head today.
Every time I try to leave, it's clear that I'm not myself.

overwhelmed with nostalgia.