Writing, Ideas, & Stories
sometimes, this is difficult
to beg for answers
everthing is truly a test
but this should have been open book
games being played
answers written on your hand
and i can’t even see the scantron;
laid it down
you, the one in the gown
pride of the hometown
strutting, wearin’ that crown
not ready for that showdown
but this is that countdown
wear it on my chest, i’m that proper noun
but i’m the one that looks like a fucking clown.
i collect memories
store ’em in a binder
under my bed
deep under past the monster
blow the dust away
they start early
half eaten by moths or accidents
birthdays and birthdays
a success photo shoot
that fucking kid billy that i hated
(take that one out real quick)
flip to the back to these empty pages
no dust no moths no sad endings- yet
a place i come often
a sweet reminder that the previous pages
don’t tell the end
moths will get to them just like the beginning
will put it back, with out guardian monster
take our books, pens and camera to the park
and look for butterflies
problem is
i always want to fix everything
things that don’t need fixing
instead of just caring
loving being more then a piece of tape
problem is
carrying weight that’s not my own
no one asked
carrying backpacks up mountains
nothing but a bottle and a tent
crashing down
broken arm
put tape on it
bound by flames;
captain hook and i share a club
missing hands and a fear of crocodiles
it’s over.
the smiles of the veterans
stories of war
memories of their loved ones
all in a photo
i’ll remember you Mr. Logan,
it was just a place of business
like any other
your stories made it like any other
i am going to miss it,
wish i got the chance to tell you
that will be gone
to point you to a worthy place for your stories
an ear that would care;
i’m sure you’re having a drink with your son right now
reminiscing;
enjoy the day bud,
you’ve earned it
the wanderer has no reflection
a boulder tumbling down a road
left bloody by her wife
wonderous by her mistress
alone by her husband
the wanderer has no reflection
they; walk
to find
something
a no name feeling
a response to a question
on a dotted line
written in invisible ink
revealed by
well
the wanderer doesn’t know
if you know
and you see the wanderer
on the road you avoid most
let her know
she misses her wife
your silence was enough
your words are enough
and all i have are these
few lines before my power cord is clipped
few secrets in code
and all i want to do
is have a final dance;
a dress that whips necks
hips that never quit
all in on the cha cha
time to live and not watch on
a screen with tears
i see it in your eyes
a hunger for more
every piece has your name on it
if you can see it
you’ll take it
a bloodlust for happiness;
but when your head rest on my chest
the breathe slows to a mild sigh
i see the kid again-
chasing a dream on a t.v screen
trying on string like a queen on the screen
it’s your favorite scene
we watch it on repeat it’s our routine
in the mirror it’s a queen at thirteen.
touch of hatred;
carried a long way
held every thought like a parent
grew up playing catch with his brothers and sisters
you could never tell;
trained to never forget
triumph will never relieve
one day will walk in the light my brother
your journey will bring you back
i need you
like the flower needs the sun
when it’s all said and done
as i wilt away
in trenches of rain
my last thoughts will be of you
days spent in shine
my final quest;
