Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Premonitions of Nostalgia.

Up before the sun again,
Damp and uncomfortable from the morning dew
with a busted knee and dirty feet.
Across the tent my dad sleeps,
but I decide to let him instead of begging for company.

It's only me, God and Leanor's poems
that and the nagging urge for reflection.
After all, I've been up since before 6
and all I'm left with are my thoughts.

Across the tent, Dad rolls over.
Just awake enough to free himself from the sleeping bag,
but not freed from the unending exhaustion.
I just go back to writing.

I have no regrets this weekend
I just wish I had done a little more,
Prayed a little longer, Worshipped a little harder,
laughed until I coughed up dust, spoke more boldly,
Cried more, honestly.

I've gotten too good at holding back tears
Tears for friends I'll never see again,
              Friends I'll miss until next August rolls around,
              Friends I've just met.
Tears for the busted knee,
Tears it's not more busted so I'd have a battle scar to tell my stories about and look at to remember.
Tears I didn't seek God more,
Tears that my heart still needs perfecting, and I can't crack the layers of rock
that make me so very good at holding back tears.
                                                                                        I guess those are regrets.
Well, now, tears I can't be painfully honest about myself
without covering it up with some quip to keep myself from feeling vulnerable.

Oh God, I'm so afraid of myself.
Of the person I am beneath the layers of the person I want to be.
God, Let's bury that person.
Let's keep the positive and throw out the negative.
Teach me to be brutally honest, teach me love.

The sun peeks over the mountain. 7:30 AM.
I wipe away a tear and my dad drowsily asks me to get the car so we can leave.
There it is. The final note of finality.
It's really done.
So I get up, find the keys, and leave the tent.
As I begin to walk through the mountain road to the car, I wipe away a tear.
A tear of resolution and a premonition of Nostalgia.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

Letter From The Angry Ex-Girlfriend.

I'm sick of being eloquent! I just want to throw a fit, okay?!
You left me out to dry and acted like I didn't mind the silence,
 who do you think you are?!
You cookie cutter guy with your magazines stashed where you wouldn't I won't find them, say they don't matter, just say it again!
Look me in the eye when you say you didn't realize what was going down!
I asked you to be strong for me, but that didn't seem to work for you
I'm just a mouth to kiss and a sack of skin to touch and pretend is worth listening to.
 those times we were out too late?
 I regret to mention,
just a product of my stored up tension,
 reaction to men's stinging condescention and reaction to the cold, dark censure of my life's rigidity,
I gave up much too much of me.
Its you I see, all bold and brass,
trading me for work, like I'm not worth the cash
 you'd lose
 to buy your tech and booze
 and the cigarettes that kill you from inside,
 despite the fact you said you'd  put them aside.
All of these?
I'm so sick of these LIES.
I will never lie
beside you for the rest of my life,
spending each day just being emptied inside
of all the life I once had and the hope I held on to,
I wish I'd never found you.

I'm so glad to be rid of you
and the sting of the sin you'd use to get your way
But now the sun is coming up, my friends are getting up to start their day
So I might as well join them, now that this poems done.
Hope you get to read this, hope you get to see that I'm not yours anymore
"We" were only a revolving door that you exit through,
and I enter, new and refreshed, because I've been blessed with forgiveness
Now I'll extend it to you, because this was just a letter from the angry ex-girlfriend,
 but that's not who I am anymore.
Whether good things or bad, all things come to an end,
and this message I send, this is it.
Let's board up the revolving door and just wave
and then never look back as we go our separate ways.