Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Twenty Nine, Poem Number Twenty Nine: “Everything, All the Time”

music was our language
a common tongue shared
that divined and divulged
hopes, fears, desires, and prophecies
mixtapes could be
mysteries to be unraveled
or masqueraded confessions
or a better way to express befuddlement
or Everything, All the Time
but that is a broken record
i could never play on repeat ever again
the band broke up
and I find myself
breaking down
the cafes, arenas, night clubs, all empty
on this solo tour
i’m making a new playlist now
one just for me that will
silence the noise from those beloved
songs I can no longer stand
because they are resilient monuments to you
and unlike a tune stuck in your head
i cant just tune you out , this number called
Everything, All the Time.

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Twenty Six, Poem Number Twenty Six: “Detritus”

She was an amalgam of sanguine ruins.
Her decimated face was a battle worn patchwork
that culminated in a staggering beauty.
Through the thorny thicket of scars,
he was captured by her cobalt blue eyes.
They shone fiercely and completed
an undeniable effect on whomever came in contact with her.

At least it did on him.
She caught him staring,
quickly shielding her face by stepping into a shadow.
His face grew flushed
and the hair on his neck prickled in embarrassment.
He wanted to explain that he wasn’t shocked
by her as much as enthralled.

But, he was afraid
any attempt to do so would end in failure.
He’d been caught gawking
and needn’t make it any worse by bumbling
through some patronizing apology.
There was no second wind and away he slinked
back into his own wreckage, letting the moment fade away.

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Twenty Four, Poem Number Twenty Four: “Want”

Sorrow
does not appear merely when
something terrible occurs.
It is what fills the soul
when there is an absence
of a particular joy.

Sometimes
I just want someone to run
their fingers through my hair,
because, God knows,
it’s been so long since I slept well
and a warm thigh will always trump a cold pillow.

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Twenty Three, Poem Number Twenty Three: “Alarmed”

I woke up this morning
weeping
I don’t know why
perhaps
it was over
a dream I can’t
remember
or
a dream never
realized

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Twenty Two, Poem Number Twenty Two: “Lunch With A Ghost”

Tonight I am restless,
and tomorrow I will be incomplete;
Last week I had lunch with a ghost,
and perhaps some weekend soon
I’ll take a drive alone,
my passenger seat burdened
with heavy baggage.

I have so many books,
that I use the skinny ones as placeholders
for the bigger, heftier tomes.
They were once small,
everyday surprises, presents waiting to be opened
with the notes she left between the pages
that fit more snugly than
what I’ve replaced them with.

More and more I fill my days with
distractions, work, and time wasters
hoping to mute the booming silence
echoing off the walls and
filling my moments of solitude
with tension and terror and
spine crushing sadness
that will last for as long as
these words remain alive in us.

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Nineteen, Poem Number Nineteen: “Junior”

To my unborn
and never will be born
Child
I’m not a good man,
I don’t do things right.
This is what keeps me up at night.

Had he been a boy,
here is what I would have said:
Always be responsible and fair.
Never lie, cheat or steal.
Behave in the opposite way that I do.
Love not only yourself but those around you.

Had she been a girl,
I would’ve spoiled her until she was rotten.
Daddy’s little girl surrounded by enough
stuff to keep her happy in her cage
because dating was never going happen.
All boys are dirty, just like your old man.

He would be in little league now
hitting home runs, wowing the crowd.

She would be winning the spelling bee
having no trouble with words like ‘illegitimacy.’

I pray that he doesn’t hold it against me
but that prayer is false
because it was for the best.
No matter how many sad words I write,
I gave him up without a fight

I pray that she won’t hate me
but my empty prayer will be heard by no one
because I don’t believe in God
and He doesn’t believe in me.
So what right do I have to plea?

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Fifteen, Poem Number Fifteen: “Remember When”

Remember when your confidence was low
and your boss tore you down
and I built you back up
and encouraged you to fight back?
No?

Remember when your friends deserted you
and the best one of all made you feel like dirt
and I held your hand throughout
and pressed you to be the bigger person?
No?

Remember when your parents shunned you
and ignored you after they kicked you out,
how I loved and nurtured you
and welcomed you into my own family because you were?
No?

Remember that one time when I hurt you
because I’m weak and selfish and full of doubt
and I couldn’t control myself although I knew better
and it was the worst goddamn mistake of my life?
Yes.

Of course you do.
And you’ll never forget it.

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