We Hired Ourselves

We hired ourselves,
Young and innocent,
“He reminds me of you.”
True, yes,
but did I have the outlook of a day on fire,
the air poison, no sense of desire
with everything pain?
Did I sit in the silence, mesmerized by rain
and seeing nothing but fall?
I guess I did.
And I wonder if you ever saw me at all.
Because if that’s what I remind you of,
if this kid is me,
then I pity you.
We hired ourselves,
and in him,
I see you.

Drowning

I’m drowning
in antiseptic apologies,
clever words disguising
a poisoned tongue,
your tongue,
laced with hydrofluoric acid that,
at first,
cuts with no bite.
But bitter words leave bitter wounds.
And they fester,
burrowing,
until your blood and bone burn
and they become your very being.
It’s a barbed wire tongue
that lashes and cuts,
wrapping around a mind
until it’s yours,
you’ve won,
nothing exists.
Except empty apologies,
flawed balms,
and twisted words that become true.

I Can’t Sleep

Something’s wrong.
I can’t rest, can’t sleep
can’t find comfort
in a bed and sheets,
or warmth, safety,
a pillow beneath my head.

I can’t sleep.

I’m in a perpetual state
of pure exhaustion,
eyes a desert,
on fire,
burning eternally.
My mind stops,
a fragment of thought a refrain with no end,
half-finished stories, prolonged ideas,
persisting,
day in, day out,
no rest for a wicked mind,
and
I can’t sleep.

The City Is Quiet Tonight

The city is quiet tonight.
No noise, no life.
Just starlight
And us,
Two heartbeats in a city
That calls to us,
Beckons us,
Becomes us.
Two souls wandering alone,
Fingers itching to touch,
To hold,
To map out your body,
My own city,
Always quiet, and calm,
No others but us.
The city is beautiful tonight.

I also posted this on my Instagram, and I sometimes post small poems there, too.

Love

Love
I wish I could describe it,
the taste on my tongue,
the bitterness,
the sour,
the hurt.
The way words cut deep,
whittling away
at a soul,
at a mind,
at a heart,
until it is sharp,
stabbing,
a razor in all of its harsh edges,
one that only hurts its owner.
I wish I could describe it,
the aching,
the wanting,
the need for approval,
for belonging to someone,
something
greater than yourself,
how it sits heavy,
the taste familiar,
something long gone and faded.
I wish I could describe it,
how I need you here,
with me.

Podunk Pirate

I wanted to be a writer.
A no-holds-bar,
every word counts,
change the world writer.
I admired the greats,
the worlds they built,
the way their sentences flowed
and ended.

But now I’m a podunk pirate,
pilfering phrases and words to create
half-baked plot points
and struggling prose,
poetry falling flat,
falling deaf,
flowing wrong.
I’m stealing the English language
to twist it
and spin it
to make it mine
for now.

See Me

Can you see me?
Sometimes I can’t. The reflection
in the glass
is not the same face
I know.
The shapes are there,
the nose, the lips,
the curl in the frown of confusion.
But the eyes are different.
They’re not mine.
Can you see me?
Trapped behind an ocean
of ideas and thoughts and voices
that used to be mine,
that are now lost
in time.
I can’t remember, forget,
I’m stuck, alone, tangled
in memory and regret.
Can you see me?
Sometimes,
I can’t.