Of Flying

As a child

I dreamt I floated away

In a hot air balloon

Sunset hewn clouds passed me by

Until I could not see the ground

 

I floated endlessly

Past other worlds and lifetimes

Beyond everything

Floating into nothingness

 

I wonder why that is the only dream I remember

That and dreaming of flying

And flying

a lie

you know

fantasy

science fiction

that kind of stuff

it’s all just escapism

there’s nothing real in it

there’s nothing of substance to it

so I ask you

what are you trying to escape

 

nothing,

I lie.

only ants

my doubts and hurt and core, an opened bag of campfire marshmallows

          small, puffy white clouds of saccharine self-loathing or hope

and, one by one,

          up the wall,

                    over the ceiling,

                              tiny black specks of six-legged politics, anger, hate

                                        slowly pierce through to revel in the sugared madness

the six-legged line, unending, continuous

          carrying away pieces, little by little

                    on repeat

The Way Things Are

Ugh.

I am just going to say it.

 

It sucks that this is the way it is.

It sucks something fierce that this is where we are.

It really does.

 

It is like when you realize there is no magic in the world

      like when you realize that your heroes have failed you

      like when you see someone’s true colors and those colors disappoint

 

Rough, huh?

Home

I have been here my entire life,

but,

I don’t feel at home here anymore.

 

I see things differently now,

as if the picture has been finally and fully revealed,

but,

I don’t feel at home here anymore.

 

Yet, I think the thing that hurts the most,

that strikes at the very core of who I am

is that you don’t seem to see

that

I don’t feel at home here anymore.

 

Or,

if you do see,

it doesn’t seem to matter.   

To Survive

We all do things.

 

Things we have to

in order to survive

in the moment.

 

Sometimes,

it ain’t pretty,

but

we do them

in order to survive.

 

Things that may be forgiven,

Or things forever etched in memory.

Disappointment

Look, I need a break.

And, I could go with the whole,

“It’s not me. It’s you” routine, but

I won’t.

Really.

Because, well, the truth is,

It is you.

 

It is you because I am tired of pretending that everything is okay,

Like everything is normal.

It’s not normal, and

Things aren’t okay.

 

I am okay,

No, really.

I am.

 

But, what I mean is,

I am not okay with

Us,

Specifically, you.

 

I am tired of being disappointed in you,

In you as a person.

And, I am continually reminded of this disappointment

Every time we talk,

Every time we see each other,

Without fail.

 

It is exhausting.

 

And just for clarification,

In case you are a bit lost,

I am disappointed because of this,

You and your actions have shown

That you are not with me, and

You don’t really have my back.

And, of all people, you were supposed to be there,

To catch me if I fall.

But, you aren’t there,

And now,

 

See,

Now,

I am beginning to wonder,

If you were ever really there at all.

 

Hence, the disappointment.

Every

Every phone call becomes more difficult.

Every missed holiday becomes easier.

 

It didn’t have to be this way,

The grand divide separating us.

 

But, an impasse still holds firm.

A deadlock revealing the core of who we are.

Applicable Term

I sometimes try to convince

myself that I am not (applicable term)

That I am not a devil.

That I am not a freak.

That I am not a lost soul.

 

But, I try.

I try often.

I mull through all the things that make me, me.

And, I always come back to the same conclusion.

 

This is me.

This is who I am.

I cannot reason my way out of this.

 

And, I won’t apologize for who I am.

I may apologize for some things I have done,

some paths I took to get here and

some paths I have yet to take,

But, I promise.

I won’t apologize for who I am.