were you burning up
or was I melting inward
frequently producing these ideas that somehow secure my very being
(it’s okay to be existing)
calming my anxieties by protecting my privacy
closed door and altered mind
- it’s been strange around here with out you,
- feels like a different life entirely
- sometimes I awake and feel it’s not true
- tugging my curved emotions like a tired and worn out day
were you headed right
or was I feeling off
dreams never cease to invade
the small sleep that I find myself in
can’t call it a night until it’s too late
can’t fall into freedom before I’ve been deemed unsafe
I quickly become tired of conversation
this is a flaw I find over and over again
I want to be fully engaged in every situation
but this longing for comfort and familiarity
fights inside my bones
starts out hollow and works its way out
biting through the marrow,
slipping through the seams
I’ve always had this aching necessity
to be known for honesty and igniting
and it’s a shocking feeling to remember
that no one is knowledgeable of my actual
everything
It is freeing at first and then it’s all just lonely
were you fully present
or was I just missing
solitude, certified as therapy
this music echoes in my throat
this newness hurts the parts that
are still old, and this laughter
does not fit inside the given mold
habitual activity is a hard thing to rid,
take in your nicotine like solid rocks
it’s not easy to swallow all that you’ve forgot
I don’t want to be sentimental,not about this
among all things I want to shake these
pinned up memories and
heightened philosophies
of how you are supposed
to forget what was good
and hang onto the sour
just so you can
get through
another sadness
it was good to me,
and I’ll leave it at that
refrain from creating another tragedy out of
what was supposed to be a happy thing
return to my initial intention of speaking forth
this north direction
I’m headed up and hopefully out
of this long month of living terrified
of the next day, the next reason to cave
in carve out, coarse skin on your knuckles
thin lips sustained by your long face
- then I remember that I like the sound of jazz and trumpets
- and that I can handle great disappointment
- and that my sentiment, I’ve gotten a lot out of it
- and that your sorrow, has an end to it
- and that this building has a fire escape
were you burning up
or was I melting inward
‘don’t you remember how you were told,
not to write poetry past twelve’
Accepting This 