Musings

sometimes i pretend,
which is something
i’ve always been good at,
that your sleeves
are just as warm as your arms.
and i like to think,
if i try hard enough,
i can still smell your hair,
that the few curls left in the hood
hold the intoxicating scent
i spend days chasing in my pillows.
i’m convinced
that the soft beating
of my own heart,
is really just a small piece
of yours,
that you tucked into the pocket
to keep me company
and lull me
to sleep.

orange streetlights left
a ghostly after-image
seared into my retinas,
even after i was blocks away.
damp, warm palm against mine
and clammy fingers wrapped
around my own
kept me anchored,
stopped me from
floating off
downstreet
downstream.
the cold hit my head,
ran down my face,
to stop between my lips
as they curled up
to meet
the racing drops.

last week
i drove past my old middle school.
as i did,
i tucked my thumbs
into my fists,
the same superstition i follow
when passing a graveyard.
a precaution i take
so wandering ghosts
can’t steal my soul,
and i can’t hitch a ride with one
all the way
into a bright light,
like an outgoing midnight train
headed to anywhere,
just like that dumb Journey song
that always
gets stuck at the back of my head.
i spent my senior prom
shivering in the wind
with curls in my lap
on the primary plastic slide
of my previous elementary school.
i was surprised to find,
after breaking into the
dark, abandoned hallways
of my mind,
that i still have the blueprint
of that building
bruised black into my memories.
i could walk those halls
in my sleep
and still find the corner
of the library i ransacked
every 3 to 4 days
looking for an escape in turning pages,
like turning seasons,
passing me by
while i concentrated
on not concentrating.
waiting for an escape
at the end of the spring.
but a release
is never the same feeling
and i’ve never been content.
and now
i’ll be free
from routine,
but i’m stuck still
trying to decide where
to escape to.
because my problem
has always been
a list
of things to run from,
but nowhere
to run to.

you should
join them,
dancing.
maybe you’ll like it.
you look
like you’re dancing
already.
No,
you said.
It’s a little like dancing,
you said.
The way that I walk
and move.
and it’s true.
bouncing lightly
like a balloon
on a floor made of pins.
i wish you were
carefree.

life is scary
and i’ve never been good at it.
my brain is filled with words,
but none of them can ever
hold hands long enough
to escape out my mouth.
i make bad decisions
and i let things go,
chances easily caught,
slip by me quietly.
i don’t know how
i’m supposed to figure out
who i am
and where i’m going.
but i’m starting to understand
i have good things in my life,
things worth leaving bed for.
even when i’m lonely.