not yet
not now
here at this graceless fork in the road
unprepared for the chill of the warmest memories of her
and the duty to dust them off for display
for everybody else
to do the next best thing
knowing there’s no stopping it
love your self
except that’s incoherent
observer
and subject
and neither one whole
and doing it on purpose to feel bigger
missing the point
and then only ever anywhere in pieces
little pieces of the person you forgot how to be
everything that sticks around
wants to
and so maybe what goes
should be waved after
on its way to where it fits
instead of losing sleep
over all these lookalikes
choose all of it
that’s chosen you
the people who best us
disguised as people who hurt us
like friends
or cigarettes
unreasonable and addictive
such a bore
a version of events
so many days have disappeared into
the misunderstanding
that you are over there
separate
that any of us are
but it’s everywhere all at once
safe inside heavy shoulders
the shirt in the closet
the smell of breakfast downstairs
we’ve done this all before
remember
let important things be important things
fresh air
family
freedom
yearning
shape and flood and remind us
we are lucky
and that everything rhymes
see the light
bouncing off of faces you love
even in your own darkness?
your capacity
to be the river and the vessel
a safe place to hide
all of their comings and goings
begging you to determine
to notice
I want to believe I can buy it
eventually
and maybe the space
if it’s right
will fill itself up
with all the faces I’m so preoccupied by
the memory of this
right now
is in all likelihood going to hurt to handle
going to autocorrect into some self-confirming dream that will hurt to wake up from
and hurt to lose touch with
again and again
until the lesson is learned
I smell the backseat
77 miles an hour
windswept
loud
elbows tangle knees bump
eyes water
and without actually saying it
there’s a promise to myself:
that I won’t forget it.
Even if the faces shift
the way they do
replaced and reshaped by the eddies of hours that we are still driving towards
even if it never gets better than this
even if we break ourselves
I won’t forget it, friends.
this heavy air fills my lungs the same way
still
every time it just-might be that same train
car
or the same sequence of steps I take to go
home
there’s that conversation I have to pretend
existed
so I don’t throw this whole imbalance into
light
so I don’t expose this hole to be reckoned
with
so I don’t have to look at it
we used to be young
in that way that is invisible and internal
and the roots of the trees
felt our footsteps as raindrops
and they spoke to us
they knew us and they spoke to us
and we heard it
felt it in our bones
our branches
it was all incredibly fluid
establish first a life
that doesn’t feel like a starched collar
that isn’t too-tight
right around your throat
that won’t choke
or cause a rash
and understand the way
your self is your design
when you start to become critical
of the buttons
and the other colors
seem more beautiful
have a deep breath
touch the canvas of your own face
the impression that you have dutifully carried
into this world that is dark
understanding now that truth
is the only thing
that illuminates
seangrandillo reblogged
Bob Ross study, “A Trace of Spring”
staple gun
forcing it, for real
all the time
that’s power though
again
right there
on the floor
are all the bits of a person
that is supposed to be me
and there are so many days
so many ways
to start to work him together again
just to figure out
i’m missing pieces