Heart-gate.

I put my heart on hold
long ago.
I don’t remember the signs,
it’s a foreign land.
People don’t understand
when they see me emotionless,
how hard it is to pretend
to be one of them.

When I don’t know
where I am,
I hum a little song
to myself,
never deal with anything
too personal,
now that I can get away
from my folks.

The clock I’d stopped
does grind
so loudly
in my mind.
Need to let the cold
seeping in,
for the chance
to make some friends.

Still so afraid
of losing the ones I love,
or that I can’t
help them enough.
Can I take it now?
My disappointment
with myself?

I put my heart on hold.
My place is vacant
and my eyes are cold.
I feel safely mechanical.
But I can’t run free,
without my heart whole.

Was it something I had done?
Or part of me I have to accept?
Who do I go for advice?
When nobody knows who I am?

I have to unpause.
Have to face the spot.
Name the things I can’t change
and bring them back home.

Stupid.

I’ve learned it’s very stupid to feel
and very very stupid to love.
When you are not strong
and easily led astray
and you don’t recognize the path.
Monsters, tricksters, cowards abound.
Before you know it
the wrong things are learned,
you don’t know who you are.

But I need to feel, we all need to love.
Let’s all be stupid now.
1, 2, 3, breath. 1, 2, 3, breath.
I call on stupid stupid love.

Pest.

I was raised to respect
certain animals & insects:
spiders, anoles, lady bugs
with 7 dots that eat flies.

I always check before I kill
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, you can go.
Because we have a common foe
or maybe you’re just kinda cute.

I was taught to take notes,
to discern the friends from the foes.
But I don’t always keep the door closed
and I don’t know which one to keep close.

The biggest pest in the household
don’t know up from down, right from wrong.
I might as well be a corpse
to attract the flies for y’all to eat.

Nothing but change.

You told me not to change
and I said yes.
Sorry I lied,
I lost the thing I once had.

It’s like a heart-attack,
sirens, flashes, warning signs.
I guess my brain can’t decide,
to win or just to survive.

So it’s the middle road,
can’t see the sun,
can’t rest at night.
Sorry for the people I disappointed.

Sorry for the ones I still blame,
especially myself & I.
Want to be alive,
just to keep myself alive.

It’s a battle with no win or lose,
it’s the outside that’s inside.
I keep hearing people say “rise, rise”!
Have they learned their lessons? Not I.

I guess I was sorta insane.
The spark you saw
was all part of a dream.
I was there but somewhere also.

Do you know what I mean?

I’m sorry I’ve changed.
I’m sorry I’m the same.
You said it long ago,
but did you really know

what any of this means?

All I have.

I have someone else’s lips.
I have someone else’s nose.

I have my mother’s forehead
and her cheekbones.
I have my father’s eyes,
not my mother’s that look like a cat’s.
Looking into his is like looking into mine own.
While hers are like stranger’s,
but still pretty to look at.

I have my father’s torso.
I have my mother’s bosoms.
I have athlete’s foot like she does
and the full head of hair too
that’s not turning grey
like when she’s my age.
Must be my father’s gift.

I have god knows whose’ eyebrows.
I may have grandfather’s selfishness.
I may have a touch of grandmother’s madness.
I suffered mother’s iron will.
I marveled & pitied father’s intellect.
I’m quick to withdrawn when being beaten back.
I yearn like them for something they never had.

Are we a tree? More like a twig.
You said my name’s not gonna be on that list.
So then why should I give a shit?
All them pretty things to look at,
just as well cause they’re made to be wiped.
If this’s a game I will hold my line.
I have my mother’s & my father’s tears.

I don’t want to pass it on if that’s all I have.

Whiskey Bottom.

Hhh92219.png

I live a half life, yo,
that I’m always guilty for.
Sorry I was born.
Sorry I was a girl.
Sorry they almost divorced.
Sorry they stayed together.

I learned to compromise
and call nowhere home.
No directions, no set belief.
So what am I guilty for?
Sorry I was never young.
Sorry I don’t like people.

Sorry I lie because
I don’t want to talk
to convince you something
I can’t wrap my head around.
Sorry I change my mind.
Sorry I walk you into a trap.

I remember what I said at seven
to convince my parents.
I remember the moment
I discovered a tape
that turned my care-free
into bone-deep suspicion.

I’m sorry that I’m sorry.
I feel guilty feeling this.
Am I supposed to grow up?
Why does it feel like death?
What do I have to adjust
to feel like a well-adjusted person?

I say “sorry” to myself.
I’ve let myself down.
Not owning my differences,
still not cutting it.
Maybe just a little space,
a breath, at whiskey bottom.