2 / 30 : big.

this weekend is about to be real boring. meh. poem time.

big

after i spoke to you today and you left out the door

you put the proverbial nail in the coffin

of this terrible week

may it rest in peace

while i pick up the pieces

in the commons i'm trying desperately

to appear presidential

immaculately dressed with a poker face

voice quivering out of a frozen smile

i walk off stage and take a picture

standing noble like barack with his nobel

pieces of me dance across the lens

i stand tall but i can't help but feel

so small

in the bathroom i'm washing pools of mascara

from my face

charcoal and koal dripping into the bowl

a little girl comes in with blonde hair and a bowl cut

standing on her tip toes

to wash her hands clean from paint

after she scrubbed her innocence off

she turned to me

still washing my sorrow down the drain

and said

i saw you on stage with the microphone

looked so tall

your voice is so cool

and big

i smiled and said thank you

held the door for her as she excited

and ran off to get some apple cider

i couldn't help but find it funny

that a little six year old girl helped me

grow so quick

from small to back to big

1 / 30 : i'll wait and pray, part 2

so i decided to start a 30/30 again. i need to be fresh. and the pressure of day to day living has gotten me down. time to get back to what i know. and i know how to write. i don't know if i write well, but it keeps me honest and. that's all i can ask for.

i'll wait and pray, part 2

it is autumn now

the days are getting shorter

by 7 pm i am enveloped in a void darkness

the october chill is so cold it would stop my heart

if i had one to speak of

i don't keep you around to keep me warm

i have men beating down my door to heat my sheets

but you seem to warm my heart

in a way that none of them can hold a candle to

without a match or kerosene your very essence

can keep me snug and secure for hours

we don't even hug seriously

it would make a mockery of

our emotional intensity

i don't find myself longing to be in your arms

or to fall asleep in your embrace

a digital stroke from your keyboard

down the spine of my computer screen

messaging me

'good morning' is more than enough for me

but now those days

have seemed to been swept away

with the fading remnants of an indian summer

that i had stolen but you gave back

i'm sure that you'll return soon

on a gust of october wind on the coattails of

the cascading leaves dancing across my window

there's nothing left for me to do

so

i'll wait and pray