Tailored

We always want to change what we have. Pick something up off the shelf and, instead of taking it as it is, we imagine all the things we could tweak slightly to make it perfect in our eyes. Take in the waist, fray the edges, add this, and remove that. Nothing is good enough. We don't see something we want, just something we can make into something we will want. And then what happens when you realize you can't fucking sew? You have no idea how to put on a button. You've just cut up what you thought could be perfect and are left with tatters and regrets that you tried to alter it in the first place. You could have had something wonderful, but instead of being happy with that you had to make it better. And now you're out in the cold with nothing. Next time.

Beds

Ever feel like you've got too many words in your head for them to come out?

They won't make sense to you.

They don't make sense to me.

My skull literally feels heavy.

My heartbeat is slowly chugging in my ears.

It reminds me of you; quiet and determined.

I can't focus on one thing, my eyes shift.

Walls.

Keys.

Skin.

Bed.

Empty space.

Toes twitching thoughtlessly.

Biting my lips.

Pinkie hits the Return.

Again.

This isn't poetry.

There is no order.

No chronology.

There is no stream of consciousness.

That shit dried up.

Everything's flooded and I've got dust on my tongue.

Tan lines hide who I am.

Fuck this face.

I'm just peeking at who you used to be.

Who you never were.

Seeing who I want you to be through squinted eyes.

Biting nails.

Tongues.

Shoulders.

Printed words slow my breath.

Definitions come so easily.

You can't Google people.

Not really.

I can type the letters; I still have no clue who you are.

You come out slowly.

Through thumbs and half-smiles.

I need to step out of the light.

I'm afraid someone will see me.

But I want them to.

Don't I?

Walking heart strings like high-wires.

I practice without a net.

But I want to fall.

Don't I?

There's no center ring here.

No rings at all.

Never will be.

Only inside my ears.

I need another 45 away from me.

Assume another identity and look for myself there.

Bringing things back up.

How you've grown.

Take criticism and run with it.

Perfect your flaws.

Write your wrongs.

Piece by piece by piece.

Bye.

Into the Whiled

No one would ever know anything happened here.
From tumult to ghost town in my mind.
Bracing for the winds of change to mess my hair and displace my stance.
I'm a mountaineer, but my global (dis)position system is off.
I've got tunnel vision to the tallest peaks.
But once I arrive I'm just looking for the next mountain to climb.
One step closer to the future seems too close to the edge.
This elevation won't last forever.
The air is thinning and my hands are cold despite all the degrees.
I'm climbing towards a height I can't know.
Don't look for me; I'm not looking back.

dm.