No, I’m fine, just don’t be like how I was today. The boy looked in the pool of water he’d been stepping in. He lifted his boot from the water and watched the rings form and push outwards, “No! Outward!” His father slammed the door. The boy smashed hit boot into the ringlets with no face. A space fell between them all.
Cloudy whispers sank near the window asking for more. We held our mind under steam filled moments screaming. No more doors without locks. No more drawers to be pulled. The brushes and combs were dead while everything else looked on.
While in jail I liked listening to the different voices at night. All kinds of accents bounced from the cement walls back and around and through again. Someone wanted a porn magazine passed to him. Another sang a song. Someone was doing push-ups a few cells down. Jokes were being told by faces who couldn’t see the intended ears. All while I laid on my top bunk thinking about how my college classes couldn’t teach me about any of this. I loved it. I still do. I love remembering it. Shame? No. The only shame I come upon concerning my having gone to jail was, and is, from family members embarrassed of me. I laugh at them. They are weak. They were always weak. I learned as much in jail as I did in my four years earning my business degree. School of Management, baby. At the very liberal State University of Massachusetts in Amherst, MA. Where they love to tell you how to think. Life is a funny thing. A sad thing. A beautiful thing. Sometimes I think I should tell my full story. But then again, fuck it.
People are fucking weak. Yet they love telling anyone who’ll listen how to live.
Ask them what they wore two days ago and they’ll talk about how they
plan on painting their walls, because they know it’s time to paint, but don’t bother
asking why the mold grew without cancellation. Fuck their mold and their societal illness. At morning’s age I knew this wasn’t good, but had no claws. And now that later is, I’ll tell what needs to be told. Even if it takes tears and smashed bowls on walls with hatred in my eyes.
It’s 4:20 am
I’m in my home town
Nothing but triggers
I did my best
I had not a memory
But an actual cause
standing behind me
in the liquor store
-Followed me in
Now that I think about it
it’s as if my own damn writing
had been trying to warn me