A Tear

It runs

When my head

Lays on its side

A pillow

Softening the blow

I wonder about time

Sad moments

And the questions return.

A single tear

Runs from my eye

Finding a trail

Along my cheek.

I wonder about time

And how distinct

A moment exists

When torn apart by thought

We bury the truth.

We forget that

Human error

Is meant to withstand

The pain of

One tear.

Internal Battle

I really want to say,

well there is no other way,

fuck all this pain,

this drive to learn a way.

Seems inside my mind,

I’m always second-guessing,

and when I ask a person nearby,

they seem to know not what to say,

instead I think they go about their own

sort of trying to find an angle,

what it is we would all like to say,

without landing ourselves alone,

every day.

Am I Tacky?

I am laying in bed imagining myself in a Hollywood script – lifetime movies. I look around the room, the layout, electric light and battery cable attached to the wooden headboard. Am I tacky? He thought to himself. How do my friends feel, am I well?

This is the every day mind of a youthful ambition. To know the right words as we will wish we could. Or, is it only me? The mystery begun.

He carried himself with grace pushing through the room and then he forgot where he was though knowing he was safe in bed he sighed, always we might feel safer. It was like he was living out his diary in every move. And suddenly I’m letting myself lose my mind, astonished the result.

I am a case study that is being allowed a pleasant life if leads accordingly. I am well liked and I support kids, 100%. But, I feel this anxiety over-dramatized. I am experiencing an existential crisis and I seem like everyone believes I’m fooled and I can’t be. I have to be steadfast and assured. And then I carry on. We all carry on and I love life simply trying to pay back my debt to society. I sometimes confuse that debt with life.

How much do I want my perceptions to be absurdly dramatic, like a scene? A moment in time lived in a minute.

All played out on a set. The entire routine. Standing near the counter hands on granite, hunched over, staring at feet, the luster of wood dimly lit, underneath. Next move. What movie set am I living my life on?

These are words to say, good morning. I’ll write another day.

©️ aquietwalk 4/2022