New Old Friends

You said I looked happier
and I thought you looked more genuine like
the friend I had originally befriended
before we went for a walk

And oh how we talked

I chattered excitedly, partly
hopped up from caffeine
it felt like hours passed

and I could hardly keep up with my words and for once I didn’t care because we were talking like we had talked from the start but everything was new again and it was like I was making a brand new bestfriend all over again

I rode back to my car
in your car, bringing out
the bone dust in our pockets
that we decided to sprinkle
out the window

And as I left your car
after our awkward car hug
the clouds began to sniffle
before erupting into weeping
leaving me to get into my car
thinking that the gods
that may or may not exist
sure have a flair for the cinematic

I drove home with the music off
tears in my eyes because of how much
I missed my old friend and how good
it was to see you and know how close
we still are despite the growing pains

I arrived home, excitedly tired
before letting you know I was home safe

And I smiled as I read
the last text sent by you that night:
“See you soon, my friend.”

Voices

That nagging voice is back again
telling me to pluck my brainstem
like a freshly picked dandelion

It’s been a few days, maybe weeks of it —
I can’t really tell, it always starts quiet
more like a polite suggestion
than the boorish demands made later

I’m exhausted from it, eyes blurry
as the voice presses my occipital lobe
threatening cortical blindness

Sunny days dwindle to dreary dark
to the point where I don’t know
where I am or where I’ve been

There’s no desire for a permanent solution
to a temporary problem, but man
am I sick of this all

I’d sleep more
if not for the nagging voice
keeping me up at night

But I will not give up my light
until it’s meant to go out
years from now when the wick
is old, tired, and full of stories

I will not give in to its pleas or trickery
of “peaceful” premature sleep that leaves
behind loved ones and unfinished business

To that nagging voice’s demands:
I refuse
I refuse
I refuse

blues

I woke to soft shades of blue in my soul
little infants of feelings I couldn’t describe
watching as they grew up right before my eyes
from toddling toddlers to angsty adolescence
filling my adult body

I ran to the Lion’s Den
exploring its trails for hours
before sitting down for lunch
and being forced to let them sit with me

Traveling home
all I wanted was indefinite sleep
no desire to die, but no will to live

But as the sun sets, so to do the blues
bored with tormenting me for today



Acrophobia

As I watch a black bird
fly to the top of a tree
I can’t help but wonder:
can birds be afraid of heights?

If so, do they get teased,
given nicknames like “kiwi”
and always being hit with seeds
from other bird bullies in high up trees?

What’s real estate like for them?
Do they have to pass up penthouses
for not so bougie bungalows
in the marshes with frogs and mosquitoes
as their not-so-conventional neighbors?

Are family gatherings a nightmare
spent trying to hold it together
hundreds of feet on a small tree branch
as in-laws talk about their new pet flea?

And do they even want to overcome their fear,
or have they become content with their life
preferring to live outside of the nestbox
close to ground?

I mull through this and the bird squawks
as it soars away to its next stop
reminding me to quit overthinking
and walk home