New York #4

It’s said
Always want one thing
We want to be heard
We want to be seen
We want to be understood

we say we feel things
We see things differently
Things coming together
Just to come apart
Like entropy
The only difference
Between us
And everyone else
Is that we not only see it
We feel it ….
And we are jaded
Sometimes before it even

A stair case
A closed door
Snow coming through the window
Paint chipping on the walls
You see it all
But you’re outside
Standing with
Sara telling you to go
Take a chance on
Even after your fight
Your drop down drag out

God Laura …
Her blonde hair
Pulled back
Her hoodies
And loose clothes
Her violent schedule
Working with
Local theaters
And dance studios
And writing her
You could see the
Scars along the inside
Of her arms …
The first time we slept
She was nervous
It was like a map for me …
Pieces of doors and windows
That only she could open
If she wanted to
Tell the stories
Behind them

But the staircase
And that door
My heart didn’t feel right
There was an echo to its beat
As I walked in
The fan (spinning lazily with a slant)
The heater (burning)
I could hear the shower
On the other side of the door
I opened it…

Doors like boxes
And safes
Hide things
But it’s really just a psychological
Thing because we have the ability
To look inside them
there are always secrets
There will always be secrets
Your father wasn’t the guy
You thought he was
Your wife is a lesbian
Your boss is actually into
Hard core porn
And Herion ….
Secrets are little rooms
That we have a hard time
But when it opens
It’s open
And all you can do
Is read it
Even though
It sometimes
More often than not
Is like the aftermath of a storm …

the shower (steam and water hissing)
The mirror (fogged over)
The curtain (torn from its hangers)
And Laura …
on the floor (facedown)
Trapped between the toilet and the sink
She’d suffocated from a seizure ….
No one there to help

It’s been said that artist
Always want one thing …
Sometimes all you have is
The need to be seen
I guess that’s what we have
In common
That need …
Artist just say it louder
We feel it
Maybe or
Maybe we keep it in….
like Laura
Who never told me about
Her epilepsy
It’s just a room
Waiting on the
Courage it takes
You to open it
With files and folders
we foolishly think only
We can read
but it’s there

It’s not a door
It’s our lives
It’s a window
And everyone is looking

image origin

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