It’s OK When I Do It

A day off of work

Time to get drunk

When I do it, it’s classy & well deserved.

I work Monday-Friday and this is what adults do on weekends.

When you do it, I judge you.

You work less.

It’s during the day.

It’s four times a week, sometimes three.

Double standard alert.

You turn into a poet.

I drink to quiet the words circling around my head like a hurricane of confusion.

We should compliment each other, figuratively & literally.

Instead we concede defeat.

We are each others favorite people.

What are we running from?

Ourselves, I think.

Shrouded in Lies

Shrouded in Lies.

Frail

In my memory you’re blurry around the edges.

Your features are softened by the affection that is now just shadows.

Seeing you, it’s not how I remember.

You’re frail.

What happened to you?

Is it you or my memory of you that time has been so cruel to?

I hope I never forget the feeling I had when I turned to you.

Your palm on my thigh, making me cringe.

“What was I thinking, coming here?” I ask myself.

I have to say my peace, then I can leave satisfied.

Whatever you said placated me, I am sure of myself now.

Everything in this life happens for a reason.

Chosing the path I followed, just got me to where I am today.

I am happy writing about your memory.

Content knowing that there will be no future with you.

I hope that you can be as fulfilled as I am one day.

In the past we’ve hurt eachother.

It’s time to grow up.

Maybe one day we will pass on the street, you pushing a stroller and me holding the hand of the one I love.

We can smile and wave, knowing we got where we are with eachother’s help.

Made You Look

“I liked your poem, it moved me”
Didn’t know you could even feel.
Those words made it all so clear, what I needed all along.
To know that you could taste even a fraction of my spite.
Makes it worthwhile to know,
I must have done something right.

Testing myself.
I passed, you failed.
It’s justification that I’ve waited years to feel.
I can focus on what’s tangible to me.
Now you’re just a ghost; a memory.

Watch me as I leave your life.
“Stop blowing up my phone,” I laugh as I grab the doorknob.
When I get to my car there’s already a text,
“I’ll never stop”

It’s cute, I say.
It’s flattering to know you still want me.
This life I’ve built for myself is too valuable to throw away for you.
I always suspected it, now I know it’s the truth.

Vagrant Prophecy

Vagrant Prophecy.