is
love really a story
or
are we ghosts on a snowy path
leaving
no footprints as we travel?
everything
is just a word
and
even less it is just our
understanding
of the meaning
of
the word
a
woman i wasn’t interested in
told
me she use to be porn star
as
if i needed to know the worse thing
about
her before we could proceed
i
told her i had her beat
that
i am a poet incomplete
i
kissed the softness of her cheek
walked
out onto city streets
leaving
another boring party
filled
with people who chatter
about
things as if they matter
i
pulled a candy out of my pocket
a
friend said the dispensary
always
threw one in with his order
i
let it melt in my mouth
while
i lit a smoke
put
in the ear bud from my phone
and
played the black album
by
project pitchfork
feeling
much more at ease
apart
from the tease
of
human interaction
and
the hope it will bring happiness
i
started walking
on
a warm night in april
i
found my modicum of happiness
when
i started letting me be me
no
matter what the cost
even
if payment in full may be due soon
people
think my words dark
morbid
and
that i will never know contentment
unless
i leave all these words behind
not
understanding that for the first time
i
am at peace
accepting
me
even
if i am the only one
who
accepts me this way
haunting
the dark streets of decay
decadent
stars can’t infiltrate
the
artificial light of neon
and
the travesty of torches
is
that there are no monsters
to
pursue
there’s
just me and you
and
all that you imagine
is
imaginary
have
you ever heard a canary
with
a terrible voice?
or
told a detached buddhist he was
aspiring
to have no aspirations?
even
the debris in the gutters i pass
meant
something to someone
at
some point
because
and yes
everything
is relevant
and
i would rather walk alone
than
atone for my loneliness
by
being something other
than
what i am
***
No comments:
Post a Comment