I have another wedding to go to tomorrow. This time it’s not my best friend and I’m not in the wedding and I don’t care about them. I seriously question the concept of family. Why does anyone want people who don’t add anything to the event at their wedding? Is it simply because it’s polite and we’re too far down the path to change that? It’s such a faux pas that it can’t be done or you’ll never recover in your families eyes?

So a hundred or so people will be gathered. I’ll be at a table that literally 80% of aggressively dislike the people getting married. Hey but it’s family! A number of us were plotting how to escape. If it was up to me I would have flat out said no thanks but it’s out of my hands and my suggestion of going to the dessert this week and having car troubles on the way back was dismissed. My car has been acting up too. It was bullet proof.

I find it annoying that it’s hard for me to do things I enjoy. Do you like sex? Most people do. Imagine feeling like it’s a burden. That’s how good things feel to me a lot of the time. Now I have to deal with shitty things. Not shitty inevitable things in life, like a bad job or long hours or a soul sucking, degrading existence, but unnecessary social nonsense.

Thanks society for working this out.


I Was Small

There was a time when I couldn’t reach the lock on the gate at my parents house,

it was a fence that separated the backyard from the rest of the world.

I learned to scramble up and flip it open,

but usually I didn’t bother with the gate.

I was too small or it was too tall,

or everything was the right size for right then.


I made stories to fit what I knew,

A fence and an unknown world.

I could explore only what was within reach,

and it was a journey I entered alone.

I still tell the same stories.


I have sad eyes,

That hint at whats hidden,

but I’ve been told I look good when I smile.

I said I don’t recognize that face,

it’s a stranger and strained,

to be someone I’m not.

I Was Small

What if she doesn’t believe like you do?

In the darkness of her mind,
When the noise shuttles out,
She becomes complete.
Her entire being is wrapped up in there,
Composed and broken down,
Rearranged and confirmed.
Pieces are lost,
More are gained.
Everything that makes her who you know,
Who you love,
Is locked away.

You can’t and shouldn’t want to alter it,
Not by hand,
Or more conniving methods.
Nothing that makes you you wants to change her,
Except the tiny voice that guides.
The voice she can’t hear,
Or decided to ignore,
When she felt misled and abused.
And the trust trickled out of her eyes.

I hope you still love her,
When you find she is no longer malleable.
If she fails to become the person you hoped she’d be,
Will you feel the same way?

What if she doesn’t believe like you do?


I’ve had a glimpse of the future,
It looks a lot like a spiral,
Or a silhouette,
But it reminds me of something much darker,
Of a road with no way to get back.
There’s a decision I have to make,
Regarding the future,
That eliminates the present,
And reduces the world to a point.
I may be withheld,
Determined to become what I fear.
There are infinity versions of me,
Wrapped around the world,
Waiting for time to catch one,
For the sun to burn a hole,
Of the present to make you now.
Until then I’ll hope,
That what is inevitable,
Will miss me.


Come Back Home

I’m driving straight into the sun,
At 6 pm on a Tuesday night.
It’s the worst time of the day to drive,
I’m in the middle of commute,
Distracted by the day.
I’m searching for my family.
But I’ve left them somewhere,
I can’t remember.
I’ve retraced my steps,
The street I grew up on,
My elementary school,
High school,
Friends houses,
Broken windows,
Stolen cars,
Gang fights,
Swearing and crying.
But I haven’t found anything worth keeping.
I’m not convinced I had a family to begin with,
Or just a collection of people burdened with keeping me alive.
I’m alone in my car,
Going back to my new apartment,
Near my new school,
Around my new friends.
There’s a message waiting for me on my phone,
It reads,
“Come back home”

Come Back Home

Warm Hands

I’m back at my parents house,

where I lived ten years ago.

i first touched your knee in the driveway,

sitting in the passengers seat of your car.

you were telling me a story,

about your friends promiscuity,

and the confidence she had when she looked at me.

I didn’t notice she existed.

or the jealousy in your voice,

when your hand touched me the volume dropped out,

the music had shifted,

danced away from our presence,

making room for the coming explosion,

of love,

of fear,

of what we never expected.


I warch the  neighbor walking,

two of her old dogs,

slowly making the loop,

around the corner,

after I warmed to,

the idea of never come back.

Warm Hands