31

Maybe

The morning picks up the pieces

You cast away in the night

Stitches them together with wind and bone

Maybe you don’t get the life you first believed

When you were young

You won’t age another year at the stroke of midnight in someone’s arms

You’re just an alcoholic poet

And you’re on your own

And maybe I just can’t silence

All the words in my head

And my thoughts are filled to full

Maybe I feel alone in crowds

Maybe her blue eyes

They help me stand up

Maybe they catch the silver sunlight

Maybe she’s the queen of all I’ve seen

Maybe

I figured out we don’t live forever

Maybe there’s a ghost that follows me

Reminding me

Of the view from the grain of sand

The salt in the water

Where did these weights come from

Who built this home?

Who put this sadness here ?

There are notes I cannot play

There is grief here

Maybe we are the same

Maybe someone has something worse

Maybe it’s the friend that’s sick

“I think I’m sick. Maybe I have what you have…” he said. Recently he found out he has cancer…

Maybe it’s the constant pressure to be and provide and succeed

Maybe it’s knowing we are not permanent and I may not have enough time to be all that I wanted to be

Maybe the morning will pick up the pieces I cast away at night…

Everything changes so fast, we are not what we once was…I hope you know…some days you are not what you want to be

I hope you know,

I hope you

I hope

I hope

You know

Fires burn out

You never know what’s coming for you

Things end

Friends die

Loss hurts

And there is a pain

That doesn’t go away

And maybe I’m running from poverty

I’m running for my dream

Like some people run from gluten

And body fat

But in 3 minutes I will be 31

And I remember 3 minutes of tornadoes

I remember 3 minute seizures

I remember there are lifetimes

There are empires built on sand

Inside three minutes

—/

Maybe you’re never what you thought you’d be

But there is still morning

And no one owes you anything

So write to her

About her eyes and the morning

And her beauty

Because all of this ?

This is fleeting

And you won’t be here…

Fight it

Hold on

It will not change it a jot

You can not change what has been

Write letters

They are textured

They are sacred …

I tell myself to get up

I tell myself to be as I was

But I don’t know how

I don’t know how

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