It’s like this {poetry}

It's like this

It's like this


Your favorite band is on stage


She says

Come up and slow dance with someone

This, of course, is when you are inexplicably alone

They all slow dance in front of you

Reminding you of what you do not have right now

And the moment

And the song

That could be a happy memory,

Is just there.

Others are alone

But you only see yourself

Distorted in a funhouse mirror.


You are always lonely in a crowd

You are always lonely

Even when you are on stage

And they are cheering you.


All of a sudden you cannot see

And a woman moves so you can

But there's no gratitude in your heart

Because you are empty

Of everything

And have been

As long as you can remember.


All the emotions

You haven't felt for the past hour

Hit you

In a moment

And it hurts

The pain and happiness and sadness and anger and frustration and worry and anxiety and love and and and and

You close your eyes

Because it is too much.


You walk alone

And should be afraid

But are not

The shell of a body

Could be beaten tonight

And you'd feel nothing.


You are on a train

It's late and tomorrow will be long

You took pictures

And had a seat next to the stage

For every reason

You should be happy

But only want to close your eyes

And be alone.

The thing you have hated all night

Is the most comforting.


It is heavy.

It's like this

No matter what joy or sadness

Comes your way

You are heavy

With numb and nothing

And can remember nothing else

A weightless thing

That has dragged you below


Do you see?


I always worried the clay would crumble
As we were crafting pots from the river
And our delicate fort of twigs and leaves fell apart when I forgot to hold you up and feel the sunlight

When you’re away, I’ll build it up big and strong with memories of past cottages and cities
And when you’re home, we’ll burrow in deep with the twisted pieces of everything we have
Yesterday I forgot to hold it up
Today it comes crashing down and there is no one to blame but myself and the swallows next door

We live in a fortitude of dreams and aspirations
And curled up in the corner a cat purring loudly
The clay crumbles

The clay crumbles.

Giving in

It comes in the middle of the night
Maybe this is comfort
Maybe this is song
something is new
we can give in to to the warmth we give
without asking questions of each other
There is nothing to say.

it’s time for a little refreshment

I went to Fresno this week for a meet and greet with the other web folk. It’s nice to hear that we’re all usually on the same page and I felt a little less inadequate, except when they were talking about software and coding. The geek in me wanted to jump up and down and scream, “Teach me this stuff, please!”

I’m also now addicted to the sixtyone. It’s basically a web player with a lot (not all) undiscovered music. Love it. Thanks to my friend Matt for getting me hooked.

In terms of what in the hell the post title means, I think I’m going to start writing again. Like, fiction writing. I told myself since this blog got on Alltop, I should probably post a little more often and in more than once sentence posts, perhaps.

I’ll start that…..tomorrow.


I am mad. Really mad. Really, really upset at a decision that was made without asking me. I was put in charge, only to realize just today that I’m just another chess piece. There is so much more I could say, but I’ll be polite and leave it at that.