This song I sing will mean many things. So if you find a way to feel, I’ll give to you my words, for you to hide or steal – just increments of me passed on and passed away ‘til that moment you might see all I gave was all I had today.

Both lost to the misery we choose, we sink deeper among the demons that make us hate to feel and help us lose. I’ve dipped my feet in water so cold it burns. And kissed the fruit that sours and turns. I’ve shone in the dark and faded with the light. I’ve mended my wounds and climbed to new heights. And still the moon glistens, and the sun tingles my skin. So I know my living just might not be a dying sin.

I’m here, but I’m gone. My words are all I have left to whisper or scream or not speak at all. I’ll just place them here. And make my
entrance or take my fall.

Numb

I’ve dealt with negativity all week. It makes my head hurt. I cut a friend loose and finally accepted the betrayal of the only person who could hurt me. It makes my stomach turn. It makes me mad at myself. It makes my arches ache.

So I’ve decide to become addicted. The way I have it figured – I only really have maybe 30 years left. My kids will be grown, and I’ll be retired. Why not live out those years homeless, giving BJs in some alley for my next fix and thinking my thoughts are poetry.

But numb. I wanna know numb.

When Time Runs Out

Priorities get slanted as I sit on the sidelines while you search for something more.

(Somehow I’ve lost myself).

And I watch you grow more restless as you look everywhere but here.

(I never thought this would be us).

Memories get lost at the sight of something new, and when time runs out, there’s just nothing more I can do.

(I know it’s over).

Fingerprints

Like fingerprints on

windows forgotten or

left to remember, your

existence lingers,

clinging to me as

if still a newborn

warm upon my chest.

I dare not wipe away

these sacred stains

within my lifeline,

your presence, your

mark on this world,

your fingerprints

clutching my soul.

Lovely reminders etched

in glass to forever mark

those who came and

those who passed.

Happy 18th, baby girl!

Love, Mom

Nothing Better to Do

Truth is I wouldn’t be waiting on you
if I had something better to do.
This town is bringing me down,
and too many losers keep coming around.

So I wait around on you,
’cause I got nothing better to do.

Truth is you’re only in my mind.
The man you are isn’t the man my heart defines.
They say you love who you know they can be
but fail to see what the rest of the world sees.

So here I am drinking sweet wine,
trying to figure out if you’re worth my time.
I fill another glass, say a toast to you,
’cause I got nothing better to do.

Aha!

I had one of those aha moments between my tears and fits of rage. When it all adds up to them not respecting you much or simply being bored with the story on the page, let them go.

But you love them, you say? Sure you do. It would be ridiculous to try to say you didn’t. But I say again, let them go. Truly it’s your only option. You don’t have to like it. You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt. But one of three things is going to happen.

1. They will, in fact, find that perfect match – no hiccups, no baggage, no problems- just right! And they will realize – and you will also finally know – that you truly were the entire source of all their misery.

2. They will discover being alone and on their own is the best way to go – no one to answer to; no one counting on them, and no one to count on – footloose and fancy-free with some no-strings-attached sex on the side until they die. Total bliss – just as they thought. And you will know that you were truly holding them back from their happiness.

3. This one is a long shot – but they realize maybe you weren’t so bad. Maybe you were worth it after all. When they get out there among the man-haters, the women set in their ways and not willing to put up with an ounce of their bullshit, the bitter ones, the needy ones, the disloyal ones, the ones with little ones needing a father figure or the ones with grandkids who start calling them poppy or something. – just maybe they will look back to that page and think – I had it pretty good. And then you will know you and your love and years of commitment really were worth something.

My aha moment? Just let them go.