gotten away

“Can you just stand here with me for a while?” Ten seconds later she kisses you, Forcing her tongue inside your mouth Then walks away, looking back and smiling As she leaves with some guy, Having proven her point. Yet, all you can think of is the woman you love.. the one who may have gotten away

Bitches

Jobs and relationships are similar; Everyone bitches about them, Until they have nothing to bitch about.

understanding

I never fully understood Bukowski’s Genius Until I had a relationship I actually wanted to keep.

Growth

The tortured minutes churn Into hours that make up the day And the days, slowly, Turn into weeks Which turn into months And slowly, so slowly The wounds turn to scars And memories fade Into the current consciousness the flood subsides And the sting of the loneliness Becomes the norm once again And one cannot help but wonder If it could ever be good again If their best times have already past And the new norm is distant, cold, Heartless, lifeless, and silent, but open to possibilities, although none are appealing all it offers is newness. The sound of muffled weeping, A pillow soaked through Takes the place of lovemaking That would be followed By the soft snore of a loved one And the cold morning Gives way to stumbled footsteps Heading to the coffeemaker Walking on her rug Seeing her painting Outside staring at the place Where she would appear Rounding the corner on her way over For a night of greatness Only strangers appear there now Going to the club that was once ours Only strangers are there too They buy shots and say “I love this guy!” There’ll be no love tonight. Finding little things she left behind Remembering happier times When she was around, or at least interested It feels almost like continuation, Yet almost like a death What would she have wanted me to do? What would she think of this? Wait until she hears the news! Yet she is nowhere to be found The only her is of memory. And the minutes churn to hours And then to days and weeks The love and laughter turn to silence Hope dies a slow death And memories fade to legion A warm heart grows colder

Sound

Has there ever been anything sadder than lone footsteps in a place that once held love?

You get off

You Get Off by Liam Spencer

The not yours flies past creating
a burst that drives rain, dirt, and leaves
into your frigid body
while you stand waiting too long,
eager for the warmth and rhythm
of the bus that’ll take you
south from the lovely city
where you live spartanly

a young woman stands distant
typing at her phone, but
you notice that she keeps looking
to see if you’re looking
but you’re not interested
and she looks sad.

Another woman walks up, smiles, and
asks if the 43 has been through
“No, haven’t seen it.”
Then she wants to know where you’re going.
She has smiley eyes and a nice body,
Early thirties, near her prime,
But you’re in love and taken,
Remembering that just an hour ago
You held her and kissed her goodbye
And now you miss her warmth,
And long for tomorrow
When you’ll have
her close to you again.

The damn bus is late, and you wonder
if it missed you somehow
and you think of giving up
staying home. damn appointment anyway
and yet, finally, doors open in front of you
and heat meets your wind whipped face
as you climb aboard.

There are few people and all try
To pretend they’re not checking out
Others on the bus. You look around
And wonder what their stories are
What their lives are like
Their wants, passions, hopes
They all seem lost, seeking, hoping
someone will find them, validate them
somehow. They say it in their eyes
there’s a desperation, yet they’re all young,
and very attractive.
More stops and more get on
As some pile out.

The bus rolls on through downtown
And you watch attractive and well dressed
People with seemingly nice lives
Going about their day as you imagine
They always do.
And you notice everyone seems
Attractive and well dressed,
And you don’t really want to leave
This area of the city
To go south, where thing are much tougher
And far less beautiful,
But you must make the appointment.

Then it happens. It’s as if
there came a line that was crossed,
and all the attractive people scurry off the bus,
pour out on the streets,
and race north, as if they are afraid
of being somewhere they’re not supposed
to be. And you sit there and watch
as the beaten down, downtrodden, and ugly
begin piling on the bus.

Their faces say so much
But their eyes say it all.
They’re not looking for acceptance or validation.
That has been dead for a long time
In them. There is no searching for hope
Or even longing or desire for beauty.
They face a day of pain and humiliation
And the bus rolls on, further south

And you realize it’ll be another day and a half
Before you hold her in your arms
And you remember the sweetness of her kiss
The disappointment in her face that you
Had to go away early that morning.
You count yourself lucky to have her
And try to focus elsewhere.

More people pile on the crowded and noisy bus
You check the time and route, trying to figure out
Where the hell you’re going
And when this journey ends.

Then you realize it is just beginning, really.
This is your new chapter.
The bus rolls on, and your back
Is now killing you, especially when the bus slows.
Some people argue behind you
And people turn and stare unkindly
To let them know they’ve violated unwritten rules
The arguers hush themselves and mere
mumbles are heard. You move to the front of the bus
to grab a schedule and get away from arguments.
The driver looks at a crossword puzzle at every red light.
She’s immersed in this misery too.
And the bus winds its way through narrow streets
Lined with plain and dreary houses
Where people merely exist and hold on as best they can
For as long as they’re able.

And finally the bus gets on a highway
It won’t be long now
And those remaining on the bus
Grow quiet as if appeased by some
Sort of progress in their lives.

exiting the highway brings back
the restless conversations,
and those exiting the bus outnumber
those climbing on by four to one.
Where the hell is your stop?

On and on and on and on
It seems to never end.
And you wonder if you’ll end up
like these people,drained of all hope,
denied a life, condemned to misery
and you understand now
the attractive people from earlier,
seeking, longing, searching, hoping
and you miss the her that has your heart
and you swallow as your thoughts
turn to the rotten fuckers that hold your future,
your hopes, your very life
in their incompetent hands that shuffle
paperwork that their empty, yet ruthless minds
cannot possibly comprehend,
yet they have absolute power
over you, over everything.

And you gear up to face one of them
Who’ll later kill you while smiling.
Your chest tightens. Your heart thumps heavily.
Your stop is next.
Wind whips leaves and dirt and rain
In circles, as the world waits
to batter you because you’re down
the bus pulls up, the doors open.
You get off.

Isles

the isles are tough to navigate
for a lone person at night
as they’re clogged with families
loud children who rarely get out
exhausted men trying
to seem fine with it all
walking beside their unhappy women
who struggle to find
a mere once of happiness
as they pile their carts high
with cheap food and few goodies

you pass by knowing to not be annoyed
but to be thankful you’re not them
other things flood your mind anyway
you chose your items quickly
and make way to checkout
where lines are long
some push their way ahead
of those nice enough to allow
the louder and more aggressive
steal their way and impose themselves
makes them feel bigger I guess

a little girl behind you in line
picks up the divider you set
and swings it around
then smacks your eggs
her mother yacks on the cell
while piling food high on the conveyer
the checkout woman glares
someone steals your empty cart
while you pay your bill
theirs was too full

$50, half wine, gone
4 bags, including the eggs
Your head aches but
You remember you’re not them
The cashier takes a few moments away
to grab you a cart
while you bagged
such a person is rare indeed
and makes the night a bit better