Monday 5/29/2006 12:22:00 AM

I know it doesn't make much sense, but I feel the same as I did then. I want to plant the seeds. Watch them grow from a distance.

I know it sounds crazy, but I understand what I can't have.

My virtue is that I'm content even if all I did was let them go.

I don't possess these words for no reason. They belong to me because no one else can. I'm not a poet because of my pain. I'm a person in spite of it.

Love. With all its three way mirrors was never something I sought. Just some fun house assortment I'd marvel at. As it contorted every reflection until we knew not what we saw.

I don't know why it happened. Just that it did. And you are better now. Because you know how much you have.

I'd rather not define what it means to tear the blankets off that better and find the sheets too empty. I'd rather just think about when I liked the middle. How sleeping their made me feel so independent.

It's not that I drink because I have to, but more because I don't know what else to do. Watching them change and hoping it's right now. Watching them changes and not knowing if I went to far.

Watching it all and not knowing why I stay the same through it all.

One beer too many. One moment too few.

As we look back upon. Humbled by what happened to us. Looking for the wings they promised long after the air has decided we weigh too much.

measure my loyalty by all I haven't said.


| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2018. All Rights Reserved.