thoughts

from the porch, i played better than i though i could

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

i thought it was my fault

i was trained to believe that

somehow “it” was

i’m so powerful

so mighty

that situations that switched around me in a moments notice, occurrences that washed away never discovering their outcomes

rested on my presence

a pretentious way to be raised

yet useful to absorb and wring out the guilt of those who know better

blame, such an unfortunate window sill we sit on while gathering light to press on for a few more minutes

sometimes i hope for seconds

sometimes…

i lose myself

wandering away wistfully relieving the sensations brought on by your memory flashing around me reminding my content self i played a part in pushing your panic button response to walk away

leaving me here

to pick at the festering wound created by understanding

i could have done something else

from grandpa’s chair, anxious in a rut

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

curled up and connecting

we don’t watch you anymore

stomach hanging out by the front door where diamond drenched doorstops held a reminder that you can come and go as you please without witnessing the deadened-end nail stuck firmly between my knees

where your fingers used to play

denim stretched and torn, worn out and waiting for fingers to slide in

tempt sin, against the skin

shadows hiding in ebb-and-flow tides the one who abides by the dude without a ranch hoping he can be more than window dressing up for another dance

this time he went alone

stuck to the wall

a flower never going through the motions of understanding the importance of being patient when ernest was fucking with verne and anchovies

i couldn’t lie about liking your favorite pizza anymore

if nothing said would help restore my pants pushing through saturday morning’s silence

i would

from bed, filling the void – a bit crass

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

frustration fills the void where the desire to fuck normally lives

a bit crass

i’ll dial it back

i’m generally gentle with the words i use to guide you around the manic moments that dip to the downside while describing boxcars hanging from cliffs that don’t exist with passengers scurrying about creating the illusion that this is all real

that i care

you visit

i’m in my underwear, scratching and moving about in slouched motions, languid and limp

uncaring

hoping you’ll take what you see back to my family, one less limb to hang ourselves on, and wishes were something i gave up long ago when you could have just stuck with your first lie

the truth became your second

the one that destroyed any hopes of reconciliation before you left

i was right

it was agreed upon that night we criss-crossed our fingers and promised to push pass desires that drench other dinner going deadbeat dickheads

i warned you against my best

i held my own

i became

something greater than that empty vacuum with a cord too short to reach her room

leave it alone

the mess you helped create when your selfish intentions were strewn across a melting floor with trap doors all labeled ‘what for?’

and i couldn’t answer

see you on the other side

where the frustrations don’t apply

and i’m free to fuck

without a void

nothing to avoid

filling and refueling

whole being sensation

connect

pushing and pulling

gentle now, i forgot, i’ll whisper softly

‘let’s stay locked’

from bed, existing in a frame before you fell

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

one by one

they realized

we can’t be embarrassed if the faces shamed are left down with a carpet-eyed stare hoping you don’t call their name, or reach through your memory files and throw it away

i stepped over another body on my way to claim the one prize we have left in this intercepted breath atmosphere that straddles your beckoning beauty

in-and-out

puckered lips waiting for a prom night kiss so he can justify tearing off her clothes

leaving another generation never wanting to have kids

at least not those kind

the ones who never would be brought home to mom cause they’re already in her kitchen eating curly fries and sucking down soda-pops that splash on the floor from their careless transfer from here to there

or, they ‘shook em’ up real good’

i’m tired

tired of searching for people to hate

i ‘you fucked up’ a car for wanting to go left today

he probably lived there

all day, relaxed smiles and reassuring words

i pound through the doors and see stripped down metal bullshit erector set architecture that doesn’t live up to my expectations

i roar

inside

it’s hard to let go of the frustration and pissed off feeling that bangs around every corner where lexus driving mother fuckers are making mistakes

it’s not the lexus

not the shoes

not my family that sang these blues

i’m not satisfied

with me

indelible marks of childhood laughter

at me

because i couldn’t climb a tree

that was my brother up there

i reached

he fell silent

never again would i reach a top

of anything

what i don’t see

doesn’t exist

the opposite then, must be true

if i believe

anything

from the porch, drifting through your apartment

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

i saw the question lines on your face

caution

symptoms of stranded times we can’t erase

or replace

travesties counted on a number line

waiting

disheveled and wet

a mess

coming home

walking in the door umbrella still erect slish slosh shoes mark where you’ve been plopping on a conditioned couch catching the moisture transfer from skin to clothes to cloth to a running nose joining the water logged face drops mixing with salt destined to put you to sleep

you sit

unrequited emotions

love

understood

you struggle off your clinging coat

winter hat removed

leaving knotted hair chaos covering your wrinkled lines lingering with each whimper recognizing loss

it’s over

your eyes close

only to open with shivering arms clutching the only one you have left

you’ll stay here

searching

for answers you understand

but can’t commit to

falling sideways you feel the weight

and fall asleep

from my porch, family stood above all

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

toxic conversations swing wildly around in ill tempered rooms where insecurity wanders wildly diverting our emotions to a response jerked to high knee kick ears closed eyes wide and nothing building in a surprise of where we can’t fathom the possibility that we aren’t able to connect the dots of rhythm leaving your pounding heart realization points filtering away the trust of balcony peering

can i trust you?

you’d have to open wide while i gash flesh and rip intestines from surprised organs hand over hand falling to the floor and you laugh, or cry, at least understand it’s a momentary glimpse into something other than them

the others

i see, sniff, and bite at disingenuously dangled desires designed to deteriorate

everything around them so their tethered tightened whitened and worn out soul can stand above the bloody mess declaring supremacy

i can stop smiling

guilt

from bed, i’ll be your waiting room

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

grab ahold of something more secure than me

lift yourself up and push beyond this pale blond destroyer dream

some things you can’t fix

as the clock ticks

and you can’t afford to waste any more reasons, or time

i’ll be fine, knowing who i am

you’re not the first

i’m a waiting room

uncomfortable and not maintained

inconsolable, temporary, fake fixtures and emotions feigned

a conduit

getting people from there to here and here to there, a rebound echo pulsating through muddy water thoughts in a washed out consciousness

that’s where i’m caught

i chose this

you

it’s an excuse

a position where i’m in control

get out? ha, then i’d have to think, deliver, expose, and shiver in sudden loses of uncontrollable impulses with lovers leaving for what would be another me if i were not he

it’s the easy way out

serving a single purpose

on second thought, come stay awhile

someday you’ll surface

and forget we ever met

from bed, which direction will we go?

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

you can’t see me

as the blood rushes to my head wondering why you just asked us to look further inside the blistering reality that tomorrow’s log books will show the names of every asshole who brandished a weapon that delivered a final silver shell to the temple of a reality that we lost control

there was only one choice

a solution to this poured over problem that plagues every tear drop collecting in chambers where the maids are in control we bow in service to every whim that’s diced up and trimmed for the next go around a sun that shines a bit brighter in our absence

the warming stops

our shivering hearts are store bought and no one kept the receipt

no returns

we can’t go back and release ourselves from travesties we ear marked to remember the drifting thoughts that led us to a doorway where ambushes were normalized and we lost sight of tomorrow’s parades

we would have marched

lock stepped and determined

if only we could see one another

from a chair, inhaling the last of your stare

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

drenched in her tears i stepped into the hallway shared by all the other fourth floor door dwellers stinking of fried chicken, body fetor, and incense

none of which were winning the odor war, an amalgamation of whiffs running wildly through our rooms

all but tuna

tuna sat in the corner waiting for the stench to reach its threshold

then, without hesitation, he’d zoom center stage through draft ways and air vents

nobody welcomed him

he wafted alone through bed sheets and hanging drapes, living in garbage bin tossed tin can creases

festering in mouth corners

absorbed in crumbly crusts left on plates for tomorrow’s cleaning

blasting our senses, giving way to other impressions

biding time

for the next unleashing

resting on your breathe

before the door shut, i turned around and took my final look

sorry for the last time

if i could click my heels i’d be back with her

the her before her, that’s right before you

for years i penetrated the aura swirling around

thinking i could make a new sound pound from the ground you stood on and around

i’ve learned

nothing’s wasted

if we walk away with something

it’s my turn

i’ll dry my shoulders

lift off your weight

make my way down the hall

it’s never too late

to inhale the sweet smell of something new

from a couch, home needs no explanation – the rest does

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

they ruined the peace sign

fingers used to pulsate potential when topsy-turvy times were captured by flash bulbs and plastered on newspapers and life magazine

it died with ‘deuces’

two fingers and a pouty face

signaling their leaving

they already left

or, we didn’t ask them to stay

never explained our common language, shared the significance of our actions

left alone

to figure it out

they’re their own journalists chronically what happens when norms and celebrations, culture and deliberation, past-times and bed-side manners are disregarded

the them are us

previously placed weight on symbols, cultural mores, and rites was bid a goodnight when without wings and mating flight we fight with duck faces

saying good luck as we ‘peace out’

peace is within

without, we are locked screens

no memory of four digit codes and your face won’t be recognized by the past and i can only hope the future doesn’t look like you, like this

it does, it’s now

i’m getting old

reflective

one thing i do know, i don’t want the past

romance is lost

it starts with a conversation

photos held

relevance, reverence and importance placed on people and places who genuinely display who we are

what are we?

stuck

where two fingers hold the key

we can use it together

let me tell you how