I have this way of drifting and dropping
in and out of “normal” life,
in and out of tasks, of time, of timing
of accomplishment; wanting to accomplish
more than yesterday, but a little less
than tomorrow – what “should” be done,
what “must” be done – “must” or what?
“Could”, “can”, “might” –
I’m still getting to know them all
relics of a time where I was more carefree
but cared about what mattered.
Change your sheets and change your hair,
change your clothes and underwear,
change your attitude, change the scope,
try to find other ways to cope.
Nested in a woolen blanket.
Sink into the soft spot
on your mattress.
You’ve shed tears, here
enough for a lifetime, here.
You’ve grieved, here
for someone else’s lifeline, here.
You’ve loved, here
but not enough for a lifetime, here.
So sleep, love
while you’ve still got more time, here.
Little by little the light filters in,
caressing the creases in the curtains.
The chill of the wind is a little warmer,
the tightness of your chest a little looser.
The pillow underneath your head
keeps its shape through your slumber
all the way to your grand awakening,
when little by little the light filters in
caressing the creases in the curtains.
What I am?
Full of rage without a target.
Drop by drop, my cup has filled to the brim,
lava set to erupt from a glass volcano –
or is it more likely to shatter
if I cup it just a little too hard, or let go?
What has been trapped within me
has moved from gentle pleading
to screaming for release.
I feel too tired to write tonight…
but I guess if I can, I suppose I might.
There might not be anything grand to say,
nothing to wow you or blow you away…
but some words on a page are better than none.
Without them, I think I might come undone.
I came upon a resting place;
a reading place, a writing place,
a summer’s breeze in the evening place,
but there I could not stay.
So I came upon the place again –
a breathing place, a healing place.
I came upon the place again
on a very different day,
so when I
came upon the resting place,
the reading place, the writing place,
the summer’s breeze in the evening place
the breathing place, the healing place –
when I came across that place again
I knew that I could stay.
I want to go out.
I want to stay home.
I’d so love to see you.
Please leave me alone.
I’m terribly bored.
There’s too much to do.
Is anyone ever in one mind,
not two?
What have you missed?
Hands outstretched, fingers reaching through the fog.
Hoping to grasp anything but a wisp of grey,
you’re left empty-handed; hopeless.
It is only that you’ve been searching in the wrong place.
You shouldn’t need to search, to uncover – only to see.
The mist always clears.
Look then.
Lay me down.
Out of sight of expectations
when they come from a lack of understanding;
a blindness, a feigning,
an oath to hypocrisy.
Just Little Green Buttons 