I asked my buddy once
what he does to calm himself down.
He is an angry guy and he doesn’t get into fist fights
that I know of
so he must have a trick.
He told me he counts
s l o w l y
lowers his heart beat before he Hulks out.
After publicly laughing
and secretly taking notes
I tried it at home;
One, number of episodes I’ve seen of Ferrigno’s Hulk.
Two, number of times I had to convince myself that I’m not losing it before actually giving this a chance.
Three, pick up sticks.
Four, the number of times I thought about calling the love of my life and not doing it because I don’t want to be a bother.
Nine, worries I’ve given before reminding myself that she loves me and I need to escape the narrowing halls of my own mind.
Eighteen, the year I decided to burn the world down from a water tower.
Twenty-two, the damn Taylor Swift song that will probably test time.
Eighty-three, letters it takes for me to confess that I don’t want to roam this earth without you by my side.
One hundred and forty-three, It’ll be okay, as long as you know that you’re worth it and won’t give in to every single hick up even though your mortal self can’t help it.
Here, I learn he doesn’t deal with anger,
it’s the way to talk out his own insecurities.
Mine showed their tattooed faces at the first sign of a rain drop
no forecast of showers
towers blocking the sun
gun cocked to my own forehead
dread as I lower my own arm;
One hundred and forty-four, one day these worries will mute, the button is jammed in the remote but it’ll pop out, just have to keep counting.