I can’t write with a cat in the room. I don’t know how Hemingway did. I like knowing that I don’t need to know everything. I’m not the man who implies to know something when I don’t. I’d much rather say, “I don’t know.” I don’t see the point of lying in the field of knowing. Either I know, or I don’t, the rest is a game. I don’t play those types of games. And, my son just woke up. I can hear him playing in his room. He’s talking to a stuffed animal. Writing time is up! I have a present for him downstairs and I want to watch him open it. Seeing my son and wife happy makes me happy and I know how to do that.
One of the most beautiful moments of humanity
that I’ve witnessed was viewed from a window
in a town that was not my own. And there I sat-
watching people I do not know gifting gracious
smiles to one another while walking through
the small town square during a snow storm.
She wore her yellow rain jacket with her blue rain boots. She didn’t mind the rain, but her mother would yell at her if she got her clothes too wet. The brook’s banking was muddy and she liked it because she was able to leave impressions with her boots and watch as the rain disturbed her footprints. ‘Maybe I should have been a duck.’ Earlier the young girl had observed a mother duck with her ducklings and watched in awe at how the mother duck quacked and nuzzled her young. When the mother duck started toward the water the ducklings followed. She had felt a sensation brighten within her chest that she’d not felt before. Now though, it was just her and her emptiness watching rain destroy where she’d created another version of self within a few muddy prints. ‘I don’t understand why it’s my fault that I’m hit.’ She leaned against an oak tree and forced the feeling to cry back down her throat. ‘I want to like life, but I don’t know how to make her happy.’
The tree embraced the young girl and said, ‘To decipher manipulation is much like killing yourself slowly and ignoring your knowledge of it. Such is the case when we place a narcissist’s needs into a space of importance. Recently it was demanded of you, by you, to acknowledge what you know to be truth. Soon, it will be time to act, and when you do, this unjust weight will be lifted from you. In time you will have your own ducklings and you will feel your chest brighten to the depths of the heavens. There will be no pity. There will be no, “I’m sorry.” There will only be what you’ve created and you will be loved.’
I know a man who’s never lost
He always asks forgiveness
except from himself
He walks with blue asking what might come next
knowing he’ll hang his head
It was the broken boy with the blue token who’d shown him how
and he’s here again
Some nights are different
Some care less about you
I believe one well written line changes the mood of the day. Much like when a moment so clearly takes place that you realize everything has just become forever different. And you’re either fine with it, or not, either way it is done.
Sent from my iPhone
Slanted windows baring dust covered scars
never heal, even when the sun is hidden,
ending itself layer by layer until it can begin again
I believe thought to be an endless achievement
So why wouldn’t we do It
When It is only an internal ‘Yes’ away-
Begging to be externally seen
So we might hold our thoughts in our hands
Every time I open the curtains
I learn something new
from the same cluster of trees
growing outside my window.
Today, tomorrow, and always.
The daft listen to their fake as though they are.
A boy found his memory, lifeless, having been
The men stood around the non and laughed.
There wasn’t a thing that couldn’t be them