Now why won’t you inspire new writing?
What good are you?
What good, what good…
What good if I can’t have you?
What good if i can’t write about it?
What good are you at all?
What good, what good…
Good enough.
To give my love
To some of the people
Who might not “deserve” it.
Some of the people who
Make me want to scream.
Who don’t have
Any love to give me in return.
I will try.
Because this is what I would hope
Someone, somewhere, might
Have for me some day.
My cynical side
Is mad about it.
And, frankly, I won’t be able
to manage it every time.
But I choose to start
With you.
Because you ignite
Such loathing for yourself,
For me, for others,
Every time you speak.
So know you have my love.
Know that,
Even when I’m screaming.
Do I look the same to you?
Has any freckle on my face come or gone?
Have you memorized the new map of veins?
The new hitch in my step?
The new hesitation or aggravation in my voice?
Can you hear the different whisper of my breathing?
Do you know the color of my eyes in the dark of this new city?
Has it yet occurred to you that, as tall as I stand now, I grew when you were not around?
You have
For me today.
Not the love or hatred
That you had
For me
So long ago.
Because I cannot
Accept what
Another version of me,
Too long forgotten,
Just missed.
Too little. Too late.
I’m trying not to feel too bad, or too worried, or too excited.
I’m trying not to not feel anything. Not too numb.
Well
How should I feel after 20 years of life?
Fifteen minutes into this new decade…
And already an emotional crisis strikes.
But I don’t feel that emotional.
Well
Over thought might be a better turn of phrase.
I have over thought the first quarter of an hour of my 20th year of life.
My life described in mere moments.
Well.
And sing to me.
Because I remember
A time
When you would
Pull out all the stops
For one small
Birthday Song (girl).
I remember
Your guitar over
My crackling phone.
I remember bad music,
good music,
Making it matter
That I’m getting older.
I remember that.
Happy Birthday.
I think it’s time to kill for our women
Time to heal our women, be real to our women
And if we don’t we’ll have a race of babies
That will hate the ladies, that make the babies
And since a man can’t make one
He has no right to tell a woman when and where to create one“Rap is just noise”
Look at that terrible rap music, poisoning the minds of our youth.
See, I would love to hear this on every radio station instead of music that promotes violence and dangerous choices.
Me to be dirt?”
“Yes.”
Yes.
yes.
(no?)
Yes.
Which people have done
To you
(Whom you have loved)
Has lasting repercussions -
That’s sick.
And hateful
Parts of myself
Hope that there’s a
Twisted piece
Of your soul
That fears women
Because of the damage
I have done.
Sometimes I
Cringe.
Sometimes I leave my eyes
Open
During their kisses
Because I remember you.
(I remember you.)
I blame myself
As much as I
Won’t blame you.
But I remember,
And have grown to expect
The love you gave me.
From ever other-
…
In the back recesses
Of your memory?
Am I covered in
The dust of your dreams?
Do you keep me
Tucked between
Your playground days
And your pre-teens?
Is there a place you visit
That still reminds you of me?
Or am I some faceless
Once-was-love
Who you can’t even see?
