standing outside with a hole you’ll fill

standing still

waiting outside your door

wondering if you’ll let me in

wondering, what for?

time raced

wind-swept words shattered grace

phrases we normally used

to build up this place

erased

four walls, a room

curtains were called, our play wouldn’t resume

bed beckoned

resting for the sun

making sure when the penalties were assessed

nobody won

not a one

silence weighed a ton, sighs filled the gun, we pulled the trigger, bang, we’re done

i came back

to see

if you’d let me in

and fill the whole

a single shot wound

is there more?

more of you?

more me?

more of we?

can a single knock stop this atrophy?

you let me in

dug in the skin

and said ‘let’s begin again’

from a porch, try again

can you continue

working towards the self-realization that we’re all frail and trying to be alright

coming home to love and fight

wrinkled brow on a friday night

soften me

wake me in the night

with reassuring breaths

turn from the moon-glow light as you clutch your body-pillow tight

now, release and reach

tension’s poison you’ll breach

when succumbing to the notion

ourselves we must teach

to try again

and again

if it takes too long

we’ll try again

to see your ways

my disturbing rants

cadence found in argument’s trance

break free

try again

and again

i rest on the notion

you’ll

try again

and beg in slow motion to stop the commotion, no magic potion can change this location where we find ourselves…

trying again

mesmerizing chants, we start the dance, tricked into believing its our last chance, on wooden dance halls, your slipper falls, desperation calls, as i bend down and crawl, whispering to myself, ‘try again’

continue this search

understanding seuss was right

we’re all left in the lurch

keep trying

from a porch, i’ve been missing something

we sat in front of him again today

cross legged and not knowing where to start

he looked at you first

i got there before you

it was too cold outside to wait

he offered me coffee

i went with water

we rehashed

less energy, more apologies

damp eyes from embarrassment

we know the answers

he corrects our work

a little more abstract than filling bubbles

it’d be easier

defined

a) we walk out, bicycle, tricycle, tetr… we keep spinning

b) we continue, visiting the observer in-between his own disaster life moments

c) staring endlessly past sticky situations we seek doorways and pass through rooms furnished by fear and triumph towards a middle-road wondering what would come next, we wind through forests filled with conifers, breeze blowing pine needle scents into our sense of what love smelled like, what love meant, when we first rushed past intimidations and felt nothing but freedom

flourishing fresh flowers filling our sandals with forevers promise

you promised

my only fear didn’t exist

promising

we only exist

to exit

this minotaur maze with nothing but a backpack strapped firmly to our shoulders, filled with desires, eyes of fire, fully blown souls, never to tire

d) none of the above

you didn’t read past “a”

i was lost in a daydream

he stood up, and walked away

*art by 11 year old Amelia Meyer

from the same porch, inspired to write, perched in a treetop with angry saints

my enemies wait in trees

for me to cross underneath

i’m the shallow soul wanderer who tricked too many pain-seeking puppets, they bide their time, in carefully decorated caverns, craving a medicine created in labs where sales are the solution and a final scene will draw the curtains closed

as i walk away

afraid you listened to my thoughts, while i sat alone hating every molecule that collided to create this soon to be corpse i travel through your three dimensional world in

dreaming of saving you before you drop six feet, i’m soon to join

they can’t save wretches

like us

when death’s flash-second fury of filth is the first time we felt

alone

in-tune

with everything

the voices sing

welcoming dirty feet travelers

who jumped out of trees

not to destroy

but to walk alongside

the risen spirits

we became

from a porch, snapshots after dawn

dial your phone

press the numbers, not my face

full force intention making things worse as we work to walk through days in different time zones with lovers who move sheets but can’t stir the sour parts of my soul that you sucked on waiting for me to run dry

so your sweet touch could cover up all the indecision that led me to nightmare scenarios

getting in my own way

killing friendships with precision

leading you on with the curious-notion clouds that cover up a character i become to reflect everyone i bumped into

becoming what they need

i walk away

followed by a trail of blood left from my side leaking indelible marks on sad-cracked sidewalks

reminding me

that someday

if i choose

i can find my way

home

to an armchair

where

i’ll wait for your call

from a porch, i can’t help myself

waiting

pounding veins make tense my head wondering about the deeds of the undead and feeding the parts of me kept secret aside from slips in stories entertaining you when i can’t help myself, i have to share the tales of accidental youth stabbings in a seventh grade classrooms with reading rugs, where i first learned i liked looking up skirts and reading about drug addled football players with initial names and grimaces that make a pubescent boy snarl back waiting for someone to look my way with the wrong expression. ms. p. was her name, with aqua blue cotton panties bulging with a pad a few days out of the month, i thought she knew i was looking. i didn’t get the implications, frontal lobe still developing and deciding which hand i should use while gripping half grown appendages alone in a poster dressed bedroom where all wonderings cascaded before falling asleep to the hum of cds and fm radio. “jane says, i’m goin’ away to spain”, i want to go with her, explore the pavement where foreign voices are home, where i can’t breathe ecstasy air, your dim lit streets force me to remember my way to you, it’s where we started, in stinky sand pits clutching for life through mud puddle remains of those who walked the earth without having to maintain the natural flow of carbon inhaling carbon

from a porch, plastic boats

drawing plastic boats with water color paints on paper meant for your goodbye letter

it’ll only mean we’re better

i set it on the kitchen counter, leftover dinner and half-washed dishes

letting go

of complete control

a shallow bowl, filled with forgotten goals

knowing soon, we’ll split our souls

sailing off, to separate-corner roles

falling into, shallow holes

tunnels dug, by emotions moles

we’ve lost our way

will we find it tomorrow?

worn out maps

we’ll borrow

to sail back

to still-water coves

to pictures i drew

when we knew

it was real

that boat on paper

came to life

i love you

came to life