Waiting, in an airport

 

Are you satisfied with what
you’ve now acquired?
Are you content with how
you’ve placed?

Poisoned with mediocrity
and a feeling of well-done.

Am I what you thought I’d be?
Have I completed all of your
dreams? Am I who you thought
you’d be?

Sharing pictures of strangers
who feign a smile – yielding
more exchange stories of
children wishing to be

something more than
the world they see
until they’re embedded
with the notion that
being okay is the same
as being happy.

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Have you a stowaway in your heart?

Have you a stowaway in your heart?
A picture on your mind that won’t stop
no matter how often you change your thoughts,
but the train that brings your sight further from your
mind, the one vision that slows down your limited
time and gives you a distinct feeling that this is what
it means to be alive
and be a part of this species that enables the wingless
to fly and the ability to mark our likeness on mountain sides?

Do you have a stowaway housed within
your soul? The kind that doesn’t understand
that you’ve lost in love before and the damage
is still far from being controlled?
You’ve travelled the road before and still have scars
from the branches that itched and welcomed you
after too many wrong turns paired with an
unanswering phone.

Why do you continue to unrobe your
soul when the world throws you
back into the woods naked and abused?
A reminder that the world is cruel; tempting
you to turn that way too, not that it has
shown you that even the winged fall and all
mountains eventually fall?

Tresspass no more.
Forever I am done with the ways that
continuously finds new ways for my soul to break.

Free me from your presence, though dear,
that only batters me from rain and gales.
Leave my ship whilst the damage is slight,
I’m not your captain to welcome you to flight.

A Question About Starving

 

Pangs of a broken stomach,
a starving of the mind – both easily solved.
But how do you soothe the pains of a starving heart?
This is a question that remains unsolved.

Any charity so kind as to help the broken-hearted?
Sufferers from those recently-departed?
A collection of masses; weekly meetings of troubled minds.

Blast it. Bars and pubs must be
sanctuary enough then.
Drowning men drinking so that
no more time remains.

Blast it all, there are no
clubs, fraternal groups composed
of troubled humankind for me.

Erasing pints must be the
only current remedy.

Come on WFP, feed me well!
Where is my aid? Where is my care?
My story won’t be forgotten by your
lack of fare.

I’ve paid my way – the damage is
done. Now serve away the
pains of an empty, starving,
heart of one.

To decrease the distance between us two to

 

I am willing this bus to

decrease the distance between us two
to a much more reasonable few feet,
with two feet running to decrease the feet
to mere inches,
with four arms to annul the distance all together.

But I am still here, miles away
wishing to an unacting God to bring me to you.
To obliterate the traffic,
not to kill them,
but to misplace them all for just a minute or two
until I am right here with you

Can you hear me? These are my yells
for a union of two bodies to crash into one
just as when I discovered my love for you.

Can you hear me? Because I would
rather like it if I knew I was not yelling
alone.

But I am still here, stationary
on a sometimes moving rectangle
wishing that I could sprint the distance,
but the distance is much too far for
these two feet and two arms.

Oh how I’d like to make these pair of twos
into a creation of four – waltzing
and reeling together into a jig of slowed down time.

Just as this bus slows to allow
a fellow off, but can they too not
hear my incessant screams that beg you to
me?

Here I am. Can you hear me
breathing and fighting time
with the writing of my hand?

Where are you?
Are you yelling, too?

These streets are a tangle of knots.
I’d rather us be the streets that tie so easily
together.

Quiet my heart to the yelling
of my head. Faster!
Shift me to him, I scream.
Bring him to me, I beg you
all. Shift away, for just a minute or two
so that he and I might become
two.

Self-Induced

 

his name alone, once a bringer

of delight so sure. now leaves me

in hollow, empty despair.

 

his name alone, stains my

soul and life in a way that

causes hope and a thing named

acceptance foreign.

 

his name alone, drenches me in

salty sea that exists between us.

 

if this what you want, then

i’ll comply.

 

if this is what will make you happy, then

i’ll suffer this way of living devoid of all.

 

i cannot hate him. though i wish i could.

if i could hate him enough to curse his name

and birth:

motivation spurned on by a hate as hollow

and pure as my heart.

 

if this is what you want, then at least be happy.

be happy because i cannot.