I have always known when to stand in a room 

memorizing it, 

knowing I have seen it for the last time, knowing this memorization is either a blessing 

Or more likely a curse 

Fluorescent light, flickering 

Blue-ish paint, peeling 

Radiator humming in a way that feels like old summers 

The requiem of this room 

And so she tells me that I’m selfish, 

That I I haven’t given enough 

And I know 

This means that I am not enough 

And no amount of questions or lists or donations now will fix this void that comes from me 

Being not enough 

Disappointment is hard when you know you are the source of it

No amount of tears will change this 

and no amount of truths

No magic number of mornings, as I stand gazing out the window at my world while my coffee pot does its daily duties next to  me 

Mornings when anything seems possible, but tiring, at the same time 

Mornings when I have something I can count on 

That the sun will always rise beyond that same window 

Even after I’m gone 

and no longer rise from this bed 

It will always be my mother I remember 

Standing there 

Though through time and circumstance I’ve taken her place 

At home. 

So many years my Mecca 

Where you go to regain 

Yourself 

And some lost hope 

Some of it 

The last time I will see this room is a Saturday morning 

Otherwise beautiful 

Comfort care from a radiator 

And toothpaste 

And evidence of the life 

Lived here 

A life I am no longer invited to 

This exit is a hard one 

I will miss this place and I will miss these months I had with the hope I had 

Now sickeningly displaced, in cold coffee and procrastination and swollen eyelids at the family picnic

Every now and then remember to breathe. 

Close your eyes and let the crowd carry you along
the haze of heat disorients you,
but you welcome the new feeling
so new it defies description, 
as words to describe it have withered from your vocabulary these last years. 

Excitement, apprehension, a billowing breeze of freedom perhaps. 
I find myself out of habit in recognizing how I feel, let alone attempting to transpose it to paper once again 
after such a long absence from myself 
and this world 
and caring to remember this day. 

It is standing tip-toe on top of a bridge.
Over the clear diamond facade
a pristine ocean, 
opening up your arms wide
The whipping wind creates waves equal in your hair, brings tears to your eyes, and captures your breath. 

You can’t wait to fall.
Not to end it all but to begin what’s next, 
because you know that there is more. 
You know that what lies ahead is better. 
Better than this.

You welcome this and all feelings as they’ve been missed for this long time. 
You wonder where they’ve gone, the feelings unremembered, or some purposefully forgotten
For surely they had to have existed, and are therefore somewhere... 
Some dimension must still hold them, 
perhaps they are not the only things missing. 

I need to find who I was for all that time so that I can continue...

But for now.
For now the horizon is beautiful, 
and driving home through the next sunrise won’t make me cry
for there is freedom just beyond. 

That is what this feeling is...

Whether or not you ever find it, whether or not it is clear to you right away, or you spend years in the back of your mind searching for it, there is always a point, an instance, most often a split second when everything starts to go wrong. A distinct turning point, however inconspicuous, however subtle. It is always there, somewhere, perhaps lurking in the shadows, amid the indecision for a long, long time, or perhaps jumping out of nowhere all at once. It could be as simple as a closing of a door, a shake of the head, a decision to go left instead of right. All the catalyst to a life of wrong. There may be many, many instances throughout the years, creating a spider-webbing map of interlocking mistakes that eventually form a prison around you. And should you allow yourself to think about it long enough and account for too many of these turns, then- it is then that you may come to fear making any kind of decision at all. And it is then that you start to die. It is then that no matter which way you turn, which direction you go, which key- they are all wrong, all the wrong way, and how do you escape from that? You are doomed to a life of dead-ends and confusion and an overshadowing fear…