It’s Not You

And on a day…

Where things are mostly fine…

 

Every normal obstacle feels enormous

Like a shadow over the future

Like seeing something flicker

Out of the corner of your eye

 

Everything wrong,

feels like my fault,

No matter how many times I tell myself otherwise.

Because when people are cruel,

when life is cruel,

It’s really hard to believe that it’s not you.

 

But it’s not you.

As long as you worry it is,

As long as you work to make sure you do your best,

It isn’t you.

It was never you.

 

It’s okay.

Between Seconds

Do you know what it’s like to see the world? I mean really see it. Gather a thousand details in a few seconds. Watch time stretch out as the nuaunces of life fill the space between seconds.

A woman leaves the train at 125th,

A shine off black flickers like a kiss from her patent strapped shoes,

A glimmer of red toe-nails peaking through,

Nighttime settles beyond the platform, dark blue.

Shadowy giants rise in the distance as light fades,

And orange glow on the worn green rails that last decades.

One hundred thousand feet grace that concrete,

Yet my eyes took time to meet 

Just

One

Pair.

Poorly Forged Swords

The details of my pain were written out in a reply.

Not even a status

Not a comment

A reply.

Like a ready-made sword to use against me.

Like a sniper-rifle to my heart

A way to discredit and disarm my words, my pain, and my life.

Not in defense

Because there was no attack.

Nothing more than frusteration, seeming childish, born of knowing that even the right thing wasn’t enough.

Don’t let them bleed you with the sorrow of truth.

With the pain of the past or grievance of the deceased.

There’s more to life and to work towards,

And they cannot harm you

With poorly-forged swords.

1:20am

These are the nights when I understand

Why some people wish to escape this world.

 

Although my logic keeps me tethered to life,

as well as my love, my family, and my art,

what do those without even do,

when they just want to end the strife?

 

Angry words can be hard to resist,

but some lines are drawn to never be crossed.

No matter how far the pain cuts in,

sometimes it seems easier to be lost.

Than to be found, and reamed and slashed,

by hurtful words and a painful past.