I’ve read that poetry is a lot easier to write, and in most regards, it is. This is why you probably find poets churning out poetry like no one’s business. It’s a great way to let your creativity flow without the constant nitpicking and editing one does, as is often the case of short stories and novels. For those who have written anything 100 pages or longer, you know what I mean. This isn’t to say poetry doesn’t have a place in the writing world. It does and should as noted by some pretty good damn poets out there, past and present. I should do more of it because it keeps the creativity juices flowing when I don’t feel like (re)writing.
Just Enough of an Itch
I know the itch I can’t reach.
I know the one.
It’s on my back just far enough away.
My fingers can’t get to it no matter how much I want to relieve it.
I run to any person nearby to scratch it.
She misunderstands me.
I run to the next person, and he can’t follow orders either.
I think people should listen more.
No one else sees me because their backs are turned.
I feel it’s done purposely.
There are garbage cans on every corner.
They stink including the forks with food caked on them.
A used napkin is good enough in desperation, and reason holds onto it.
I shouldn’t litter even though food will stick to my hand.
Nothing to see here as my arm reaches behind me.
You cross my mind as I get some relief.
The itch has stopped.
I know the one, returning when I least expect it.
Finish What You Started
I felt something as I turned the corner.
Those around me never knew how much pain I felt.
When something goes wrong, it doesn’t have to end in defeat.
My team was counting on me. I was counting on myself.
Quitting never was an option.
I could taste the victory, yet still not able to see the finish line.
My limits were not what I thought.
No one should experience the world’s most prestigious competition without regret.
The best makes you meet the better half of yourself.
There was nothing to feel or think.
My body was close to the white line.
Faster and faster as the fight around me seemed to disappear.
Gone is the Tail
Your long, flowing hair.
I know you’re thinking about it.
It’s not what should have been.
Hundreds of years you’ve had it that way.
I know you think it wrong.
Hair grows back.
I pray that it does.
It must fit the mold.
You realize that.
Don’t have any fear.
It’s been put to use.
The return is good.
Even if the tail is gone.
Not a Dirt Road
I came upon a fork on a dirt road,
with five options before me,
some must have been made by other shoes,
worn down year after year.
Confusion set in as my goal was to create my own path,
but I felt so tired,
and I wanted to get to the end quickly as possible,
even if the whole truth wasn’t there.
I spent a whole day entering each option,
giving equal time to the five dirt roads,
searching for the stumbles and failures of those before me.
More confusion set in as I found there wasn’t any answers,
none of my questions seemed important.
I propped against a dying tree,
not twenty feet from where I started my quest,
and realized my decision was mine alone.
No matter how much I stumbled,
how much I failed,
intensity of my thoughts,
the dirt moved the same distance whether I was angry or not.
I went back to the fork,
knowing it wasn’t a dirt road I was looking for,
knowing not exactly what,
but something else.
Of Knuckles and Perfume
Dear lady of the night,
I applaud you for all the things you haven’t given me,
And those things you will yet give me.
Thanking you enough for your hospitality cannot be done,
For you keep giving me something I shouldn’t have.
The hallways of your home have become my pathways to freedom.
Don’t worry, I’m never there long, just enough to reap the benefits.
You have nothing to fear. I never mean you physical harm.
When you stumble upon my happenings, take a breath or two.
It’s not the crime of the century.
Remind yourself of the perfume you dab on your neck,
The color of scarf you wrap around your head,
The handmade shawl you bought at the market.
These things I have no use for, and what I took shouldn’t matter.
Let them bring you comfort in this time of loss.
Be open about our relationship not hopeless.
The time to know my name will come soon enough.
Dear lady of the brick house,
this is only one reality out of many.
Don’t cheapened the process with your tongue.
You hold onto possessions during the afternoon, knowing they aren’t enough,
and you cannot take your eyes from them when you should be sleeping.
Your denial entices me.
I see your body is broken. It isn’t that you can’t have it back.
You must persuade me in some way to return those things you claim to love.
Find a way to let go because your knuckles are not the color I want to see.
Push, Shove, Pull, Yank
This is what has been happening to us, a reflection of a much bigger scale.
The one where divisions have been occurring at a rapid pace.
Some are trying to find a way back to normalcy.
Others have different ways to find it.
People push and shove without much thinking.
Wanting a reaction to serve some kind of selfish purpose on all sides.
I am the best and you can’t convince me otherwise.
This is the climate of today, hot and hotter.
It snowballed from one influential event.
There were committed errors, desired errors, and vindicated errors for some.
It was the disappointment of personal passions, visions, and beliefs for others.
What happened belonged to the masses: those in the puddle and outside of it too.
We have become a jockeying gridlock of sorts.
This is what the opposite of implosion looks like, but there has to be something else.
Two options can’t only be it, and if it is, then much better ones.
This small net must and should be larger and smarter.
I went to sleep with two eyes, ears, legs, arms, feet, and hands.
The next morning I woke up with something else attached to my body.
It was touching my leg, tickling it, and was moving freely.
I lifted up my covers. The horror of what I saw. The color of it made me sick.
Worse, it had ripped my favorite pajamas.
I hopped out of bed and grabbed a scissors from my drawer.
This thing was coming off one way or another,
even if it meant blood might be spilled.
As I reached for this unwanted thing, it uncoiled itself around my leg,
and moved in the opposite direction of where my hand went.
I dropped the scissors, twisting left and right until I caught the end of it.
It moved in every direction, each time with more force, as it tried to get free.
This damn thing thought it was cunning by bringing me to the floor.
I rolled toward the scissors, opened them with force, and closed the blades.
It sounded like bone breaking.
The rest of it swung wildly behind me, then coiled itself around my leg.
I cut into it again. The two separate pieces struggled to stay alive.
The one piece still attached was angry at what was lost.
With my body lighter, I contorted even more, and that is when I saw.
It wasn’t something intrinsic, something within me I had created.
How Deep Will it Go?
The Earth seemed to open itself to me, quite willingly,
and as the elements reached out for my ankles and legs, I began to wonder.
Was the pain I felt worth it? Were the scrapes worth it too?
Was the chill in my hands and feet, in my head, or in my heart?
It was enough to remind me of my fragility,
a human being of parts I should give more attention,
and the liberties I should have taken.
It’s not easy to shake from my consciousness the troubles that wait around every
rock stepped on or passed by.
Is this the end of the road, as the saying goes? Or, does it keep going?
Does it stop to wonder and worry as I do?
I trust the land beneath despite it showing otherwise,
because anything less is futile.
Eventually, it will spit me back up when it’s good and ready.
It might not be in the order received, but still I went deeper than before.
I Will be Waiting
I came to be known as something they barely see.
I walked countless streets, searching for certainty in dark places.
When you descend from it, the desire never stops.
It can carry you to the very end. It can stop the suffering.
I make time useless and irritations numb.
Whether half awake or asleep, I continue.
They never realize how close I get, always turning away from the peace I can give.
I make them fall to their knees and thank me.
It only takes one time to be mine.
Love is Not There
They say love is never where you want it.
Not in bars where people appear their best.
Women hope their gloss has the same shine as thirty minutes before.
They say love is never found sitting down.
Not on stools where women cross their legs, then uncross them.
Not even when they flip their hair as a last resort.
They say love is never found in any bathroom.
Not in the stalls where quickies are done, even in those without a door.
Men leave without feeling much of anything.
They say love is never found on the highway.
Not on any kind of road with or without adequate lighting.
Only tire tracks covering faded ones belong.
They say love is never found in grocery stores.
Not in any comfort food aisle.
Not in the canned black olive aisle either.
They say love is never found where it should be
In the Sand
Tiny villages in the sand go about their business,
Too insignificant for the human eye to give much attention,
but not the tiny giants who live close by.
They want to go beyond and see the other side,
but they are not viewed as a good thing,
and the tiny people think of them as menaces.
It doesn’t matter if they offer friendship,
or state their infinite supply of compassion,
or claim they are built for security.
The tiny people rely on themselves,
not liking handouts or gifts,
and don’t trust anybody but themselves for stability.
But, some of the tiny villages have been destroyed by another enemy,
giving good reason for the tiny person to approach the tallest giant,
and ask for things that are whispered.
This could be the start where life becomes fuller and sweeter,
maybe a little bit tastier for everyone,
but no one can have great things, if no one makes the first move.
In the Right
I watched you turn into something better.
There you were, so beautiful and so bright.
I knew the energy within you would never die away.
Luck was on your side, pure luck, whole luck,
the kind you only find when not looking.
Simply letting it play out as life plays out on an empty stage.
It isn’t easy being who you are, fighting for what you believe,
knowing it might not go anywhere.
I wish that you continue to hope for great things,
even if they don’t happen.
The opportunities are abundant, making you warm,
creating rosy cheeks willing to blush a little because you know you’re right.
Not wrong, but completely in the right, in the now, in the seed
that grows and grows.
That is you.
I continue to watch you spread outward,
keeping mind of the things that bring you comfort.
Reaching That Tired Point
As I’m tired and wanting to go to bed,
I think of everything I’ve gone through this week.
A box to check yes.
There is no box so I will type it.
My eyes are even heavier now. This is rather pointless.
A box to check no.
There is not box either so I will type it.
Broke my tooth because I have a strong bite.
Need to get a crown.
If I’m feeling a little unsettled, I know the reasons why. The effects keep piling up.
Waking up at odd hours.
Inconsistent eating patterns.
What else is going on? What am I forgetting? Does it really matter right now?
Not when you haven’t gotten enough sleep.
Take Your Best Shot
I waited for it to come outside.
It did, but only wanted to play, and play not according to the rules,
but to the exceptions.
Little did it know, that wasn’t part of my plan. I had not come here to mess around.
I meant business. I was on the job. Kill at no expense.
It kept advancing, ever threatening, closer and closer.
I aimed my gun at its chest.
Pop. Pop. Pop. And its head. Pop. Pop. Pop.
The rest came running from all directions.
My trigger finger was ready.
I closed up my danger zones and retreated into darkness.
They were in now my territory.
A few charged as fast as their stiff legs would allow. What a tragic mistake.
They ate more bullets than flesh that night.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.
I let the rest come, waiting with my night vision.
It was their turn to knock down the doors and be ready for any outcome.
Needing Someone Who Knows What We’re Doing
If you fail, I win.
I wonder why it needs to be this way.
Why must we suffer so?
Can’t there be two winners?
The decision has been made.
I’m left holding misery in one palm and hurt in the other.
Now, I can’t possibly find a way out.
The digging has been done. The bottom smells of decay.
The promise of newness is gone.
But, if we reverse this to you, what would it bring me?
Failure. Loathing. Jealousy. Death.
All those things.
Or, something else I can’t control.
Something I will see, but don’t want to feel.
A toxicity that burns.
If we bring our relationship to greater heights, where will that bring us?
I imagine somewhere deep, somewhere dark.
With every touch of your hand,
I wanted something else, but this I did not get.
It was good, at first, but after a few minutes it was bad, very bad.
This wasn’t what I wanted.
I came here for relaxation, for peace, for soothing.
You gave me pressured anxiety, sore muscles, and conflicted thoughts.
With my teeth grinding, I almost told you to quit what you were paid to do.
Your nervous laugh became annoying.
The touch was all wrong. Your dirty feet. Your heavy body.
You left me with something I had to forgive.
It made me angry, really angry.
I have to be more cautious now.
I don’t ask for much, just someone who listens.
Work on one side, then the next.
Not one side only.
It should be simple.
The pain easily sat there like a brick,
and this brick was huge and heavy,
much too heavy for one man to carry.
Yet, here he was carrying this huge, heavy brick around his neck
like he was born to carry it.
He knew he wasn’t meant to hold it in any way.
It was placed on him unwillingly, quite unwillingly,
and yes, he kicked and yelled when it was placed on him.
He was told this was what life brought you,
but he only saw it as unnecessary,
punishment reserved for those they hated.
When you do bad things, bad results happen he was told,
except he wasn’t willing to take responsibility because it was a trick,
and accused people are sometimes innocent.
He tried everything to undo this nightmare situation.
The evidence pointed elsewhere, but no one cared.
It was better to sweep it under the rug than to be fair, honest, and right.
Every defense he tried, the strikes were too powerful.
Over time it weakened him, and he took a long rest to gather himself.
It was here he found a different kind of strength.
They were trying to kill him,
but he sure wasn’t going to make it easy for them.
As long as oxygen reached his lungs, he would fight ’til the every end.
If you keep coming back to me, again and again,
no one needs to say how repetitive this is for both of us.
I know you have an agenda to maintain, but I have mine.
It isn’t perfect, but it works for me.
I’m not a person that likes to be shoved along the way.
If it doesn’t feel good for me,
I suspect it doesn’t for you either.
But, here we are in this kind of stalemate,
wondering what the other person is thinking and feeling.
Sometimes kindness gets mistaken for weakness,
and this is something no one wants,
but can be used as a life lesson to remain steady.
You saw it as an opportunity to depart your knowledge and wisdom.
Your drive, your energy, and your persuasion goes beyond a mile.
I get it.
It works for you, but even though it didn’t go as planned, it did mean something.
It further nudged me in the direction I have to take.
While I don’t bend so easily, and take my time to get to that place,
the point I want to land is ultimately up to me,
and me alone.
I wonder why you called me.
It was only for a few seconds, but long enough to know
I didn’t like you or care for you.
Your foul words and your ugliness,
these are the things that make me angry,
that send me into battle.
I know a fighter’s words.
You think you’re entitled when you’re not.
It isn’t funny or clever. You aren’t the miracle people want.
You’re the rotting fruit hanging from a tree.
You’re the thing people kick out-of-the-way to get to the good stuff.
I will never take your lousy demands and make them my own.
I won’t justify your needs, your views, or your sickness.
I won’t twist it for your benefit.
It was the bitterness underneath your words,
it was your unwillingness to recognize you’re touchable that created this space.
Quite shocking to you, but all too familiar for me.
I’ve done this before.
It’s what I call predictable, but you call it something else.
When I finally got the courage to look, she was pressed against the bench.
Her flesh had become the color of wood, and was now disappearing.
I knew my brain had been altered by drugs from the past,
but I never considered myself unable to
control my mind.
I wanted to ask someone around me if they noticed anything,
but no one would make eye contact with me.
It’s not easy being a person with many needs in an unforgiving world.
Her lack of being drew me to her where she sat.
She had unnerved me, but still I searched in between the slats for her.
She could’ve been stuck or might have fallen through.
I sniffed the air. She was definitely gone.
Her absence hadn’t taken my problems away.
In fact, they were sitting on the bench she once sat, begging me to pick them up.
They must’ve fallen when I bent over.
They eventually would find their way back to me so best to pick them up now.
I shuffled back, past the bench I sat, and made my way to the door.
This is when I saw her again.
She was in different clothes now, less gloomy and more colorful.
I wiped my eyes with my finger to see if she was really there.
She was still there.
I closed my eyes for a few seconds and when I opened them,
she was no longer there.
I wasn’t so confident in this vision anymore.
I could’ve created it to combat my loneliness for being an outsider.
I wanted connection, but I wasn’t willing to lose myself in the process.
As my body braced for the change in temperature, for a brief moment, I wondered
if she was an angel.
When Pistol Speaks, You Listen
Pull it out.
Nice and shiny.
The power. The glory. The spotlight.
You want it.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
You got it.
Many times over.
You have it.
All of it.
I invited you more than once.
It wasn’t right of me to do.
Taking your power away.
Bleeding your veins until they were dry.
You resented me. I know.
It didn’t matter. I didn’t care. I still don’t.
You knew this.
Still, you kept at me, wanting me to answer.
So foolish. So stupid. So numb.
I wanted you to grow up. Be a man.
Be someone like me, but you failed me, every time.
I did you a favor. The one you never thanked me for.
You wouldn’t have been happy alive.
I knew this as your head detached from your neck.
Your hands seeking admiration as you took your last breath.
Seeking your meaning in the wrong places.
I closed your eyes and buried your head.
You can hate me. I accept this.
It really doesn’t matter. It never did.
You are gone. I am still here.
You are bloodless. I still bleed.
Because I’m Human
I woke up hungry
and not because I hadn’t eaten the night before.
I did. Okay, I really did.
Still, my stomach made noises right away,
and not those painful ones accompanied by growls.
I didn’t deny myself anything last night,
and yet the reminder before things get crazy,
before I become really mad,
and not able to control myself continued.
First things must come first.
I must brush the nasty taste out of my mouth,
and rid myself of what I drank the previous day.
No one likes cotton mouth.
No one likes bad breath.
No one likes to hold it.
No eggs. I understand.
The punishment of it all, but this was a year ago.
There must’ve been some change within me.
I know. I’m kidding myself. I know.
Open the door and look inside.
It’s the same thing.
On All Fours You Were Gone
Your head was flattened as far as it could go in that tire track.
We spotted each other at the same time.
I wanted to help, but what could I have done.
There wasn’t enough room under my coat,
And I didn’t want to get scratched by your claws.
Been there. Done that. No thanks again.
It was pouring that day. The sky was dark. The drops were harsh against my face.
I had places to be, but I slowed down and crept toward you.
I thought, maybe, you could use a friend.
Maybe, you could feel a connection with my words and hand gestures.
Without moving your head, I knew you were watching me.
I meant you no harm when you raised your body on all fours.
Out of fear or hesitation, I can’t be sure.
I didn’t mean to drive you out of your comfort zone with that extra step.
You darted away, running for another place.
I watched you through my half-obscured glasses, wondering where you had gone.
For this I am sorry.
You weren’t the exception that day for me.
I saw your hands gripping the steering wheel tight enough to make your
fingers cramp like one’s stomach does after overeating.
A person of your caliber never thinks logically when someone like me chases you.
It’s tragic knowing there’s nothing you can do to get away.
You claim your living the good life. You’re not.
A whole range of thoughts go through your head when your livelihood is at stake.
You possess a half-life, if that, and you know there’s never a way out.
I’m always on your heels.
The threat of your inside becoming your outside is real.
The cuts are now shallow. The hours will seem much longer.
You’ll find your life will further dissect until you can’t hold the minutes with ease.
You want what I have. You want my name. You want my power.
This will never happen when there’s nothing to add and everything to subtract.
Let it Go
I was willing to let it go.
Let the dogs lie peacefully, but you had to utter those words.
You did not see how it’s my usual nature to ignore someone like you,
to let the wind carry your stupidity away before it lands on my shoulder.
This time it was different.
Your disrespect in the way you muttered something under your breath.
I will remind you it was your fault.
I was not the one who took something that was not mine.
You were the one who kept pecking.
You were the one who created this divide between us with the reaction
on your face, and the returned response on mine.
There was nothing left between us except your frustration and anger,
and all because you could not let it go.
Those words I could not hear.
I knew what they meant,
and this is why I was not silent.
I’ve seen what tired looks like on a divorced woman.
It hangs in front of her like a carrot she never can reach again.
I knew of others who suffered this affliction.
They bathed in it much too long, and I never bothered to ask the important
How do you get rid of it? Maybe, you don’t. Maybe, you can’t.
Maybe, you should try harder. Maybe, you shouldn’t.
When I came home that Wednesday night, there was a note.
Yes, it was the night he left me after fifteen years together.
Five words: I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE!
Did I mention, he put an exclamation point.
It was, at this point, I lost my appetite. I became a closet Debbie Downer.
A few times I thought death was the best option, but it passed quickly.
I wasn’t that kind of woman, but when the waves in my life tank became too big,
and the bottom no longer there, it was tempting.
I managed to grab something, only for it to slip out of my hand, and drift away.
Sometimes the loss was unbearable and was forced to close my eyes.
He was the one person I thought would never leave me.
It became the longest year of my life. It isn’t easy to breath when you’re not in
I no longer had his arms comforting me.
I longed for his touch. I longed for his smell. I longed for his words.
I also longed to slap his face for his inability to be truthful.
A few months had passed when I recognized something.
It was no longer our bedroom. It was my bedroom.
This was my carpet digging into my legs. This was my wall touching my back.
I could paint over the ugliness on the walls.
Nothing was ours anymore. Nothing was his anymore.
He didn’t want the house. His input no longer matters.
I should’ve known better. Our separation was a bad dream.
Our divorce is going to be a good dream.
I loved him once, and he loved me too.
I have no idea where he is living or if he has another woman.
Too much time has passed, and I have since painted the walls again.
My five words: I AM BETTER WITHOUT YOU.
I have cut myself to my ankles many times before
because that is what you taught me.
This is what you breathed into my mouth
when I didn’t want your lips anywhere near mine.
Boy, did you keep insisting.
Jeez, how deep did you think you could go?
What the fuck was the matter with you?
Wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.
The hatred. The loathing. The revenge. The pain.
The sad part is you still don’t give a shit.
I trusted you to have my back,
and you did nothing but push me down,
over and over again
until my shell was cracked into a thousand pieces.
It’s a wonder how I ever survived through it all.
Yet, I did.
Some fucking how, I did.
Here, I am, the only one left.
It started with you and ends with me.
Get ready because soon the whole world will know what you did
despite you never caring.
I have outlived you by a few years, at most probably five,
maybe even ten, but no more than eleven.
As I sat waiting to reach my destination,
I had time to think about you in the silence, imagining what
aspirations you had, and when you realized all was lost.
You went back to nothing again and again because the path you followed was the
wrong one. It must’ve been a revelation hitting you in the face
when you reached the dead end.
I’m not sure what I would’ve done in your shoes,
but I know the tears you wiped and the revenge you should’ve had
was all for one thing and one thing only.
I should’ve asked for you sooner.
I never imagined I would pick you apart, only to try to tape you back together again
year after painful year.
I never knew why you were gone even though I knew what had happened.
There’s no more needing the answer.
I have it, and so do you now.
There’s freedom for both of us, and while this feels strange to say,
it is reality I’ve accepted because
without you there would be no me.
You tell me you can’t go on,
that you are sore,
sent to the brink of not being able to return.
But you’ve never listened to yourself,
or told yourself you can go on,
as a fighter,
someone that strikes first and asks questions later.
You pass by people who have betrayed
you with all their intelligence,
and you think they are better
but they aren’t,
and why you can’t accept that I’m not sure.
Their fingers and toes aren’t
anymore special than your own,
but you insist on burning both ends of the stick,
and it never makes sense
why you do this,
when your existence is questionable.
If I told you to touch it, would you?
I don’t think you would.
I really don’t think you would.
You crave loneliness.
You do things in the dark.
It’s not like I don’t know who you are.
I see you not holding your words in truth.
I hear you doing bad things.
I touch your ugliness all the time.
You have not fooled me.
It’s not as if I lost my senses.
You keep trying to hide things, believing each time you succeeded.
You wonder why it happened that way.
If I told you I would kill it, would you let me?
Allow me to stop its suffering.
Allow me to stop the contortions.
Have it not scamper to an unknown spot,
Never to be found again.
Your misery vanished.
I don’t think you could handle it.
I really don’t think you could.
You like darkness.
I wonder if you really do.
You might stay there forever.
What would you do?
What could I do to you?
I’ve kicked you out many times
From my mind.
I’ve bolted down the tiny path,
Always leading somewhere toward mistakes.
I played with death
Because of you.
I wanted it.
I craved it.
I needed it.
My chest was crushed under your weight.
The weight I thought was something else.
The something else that was fear.
The fear that turned into pure ugliness.
It wasn’t that you betrayed me,
But the way you did it,
So viciously and carelessly.
You simply didn’t give a damn,
Despite all your promises.
You’ve been replaced with pain of another kind,
Broken and dejected.
Similar yet different.
In the Meantime
Are up there,
I am down here.
Were always with me,
And hearing my voice quiver.
My high pitched words,
Sounding like unsettled screams,
As you stroked my fears away.
Every day you are gone,
I am unsettled,
Sometimes it is
Unbearable for me,
And I think
When this feeling ends,
Will I be stronger?
Have moved away,
For such a long time,
Way over there,
I miss you,
It seems you have been here before.
Yes, you have.
The objects look the same.
Yet, you know they are different.
The dust is another layer formed.
Another year gone by, and you must escape from under these dark clouds.
Your eyes are heavy.
Your ears don’t hear well.
Strength can be difficult to find.
Every morning you put life into categories,
As if they can be labeled,
As if they will gain a different meaning.
One you will understand better.
One that doesn’t make your heart so weary.
One that doesn’t make you suffer so much.
Yes, the arrows still fly around you.
Nights become days as you walk toward the dark again.
You feel more is within your grasp, but never fully able to see it.
It takes time to deliver.
You tell yourself these words.
You navigate the weight of life on your shoulders.
There are no remedies to take the pressure away.
Yes, it is this way.
Not all the time is it great.
Not all the time is it right.
There aren’t magical words to fulfill your desires.
Half of your existence remains tucked away.
What Could Have Been
What are the odds?
Not very high.
I told myself this over and over.
It must be difficult to know you lost out on something.
Yes, it stings a little bit, but all the time people lose.
Some lose something small.
Some lose something big.
It is easy to let it fester.
Stay up all hours of the night.
What was the meaning of this?
Am I not seeing something there?
Is this is another lesson?
Why did I miss it?
What do other people do?
Because I only feel numbness.
This is a screwed up way to teach me a lesson.
I wasn’t told these kinds of things would happen.
I wasn’t given the choice that life would get harder instead of easier.
I wasn’t told many things.
I find myself not so hopeful.
It is sad I might never be reunited with the might have been.
It is downright a gloomy prospect.
I am not sure where to place my feet now.
It scares me more than I am admitting.
The sun rising or setting does not comfort me like it once did.
This kind of repetition gets old.
Will the sun stop rising and setting at some point?
Will it disappear?
I am not feeling like I once was.
I am not feeling much at all.
The odds were very high this time.
There had to be another way.
There simply was not.