a bad day poem.

i’m waking up.

hoping that i’m not in the same terrible mood i’ve been in off and on for the last few days. or the last week. i lost track.

i’m sick.

as i have been almost every moment of these last days while i watch my lactase enzymes float away into this bleak lactose intolerant future.

i’m tired.

evidently as i write this. i’m still tired. my dreams are gracing me with thoughts of nothing but failure.

i’m terrified.

of moving so far away in so little time. but the thought of staying here in a life i’ve nearly outgrown is scarier yet.

i’m hurt.

as i attempt to find words from someone i would like more from and realize how cold it feels to be purposefully put on the back burner.

[not even accidentally.

examined. pondered. purposefully.]

i’m typing.

at this moment and drinking my tear infused coffee, not sure that the end to this week is anywhere in sight.

i’m finding.

the clouds haven’t stopped suffocating the sun’s existence.


i’m no most rested.

than when i closed my eyes yesternight.

i’m mentally recording.

every lovely thing that’s happening in this hopeless state of mind, so i can give them the appreciation they deserves whenever my exuberance returns.

[and for now.]

i’m going to drink more coffee.

and try to pretend

that the sun in shining.


what it means to feel.

this morning, i found the words listed below amongst the scribbles of one of the few people i follow. this writer is a particular favorite of mine and the sentiment that he expressed in this poem illustrates a theme that often steals my mind.

i have read books. heard words. seen demonstrations. of the type of love that invades every aspect of ourselves.

it seeps into our bones and. for at least a portion of our moments. it resonates as the epitome of our world.

it’s intoxicating. beautiful. treacherous.

and it reminds us what it means to feel.

If there was anything other than you

I’d know it.

When walking down the street,

there are no clouds, no trees, no air.

I am not breathing. My heart is not beating.

The sidewalk has no cracks, the slushy wet snow does seep through my thin shoes.

The morning birds are not singing.

Cars do not rumble by as harried men search for the bouquets at the last minute.

Woman do not see me and I do not see them.

There is no noise, light, there is no dark.

There is only you.

And you are branded with every flavor I could taste in my waking hours,

Every scent lilting along the smog littered streets

every coy glance given and received

the crisp daylight streaming through the break in the overcast sky

the beeping trucks lifting snow

the children laughing somewhere down below an open window to the world

the sharp angles of elbows and phalanges cradle this sense in a person’s chest.

None of these things exist without the context,

of you.

every sunset follows every sunrise,

chasing the world around

looking for that place

I last saw you.

The pastel skies and cold river beds.

The boat dock sides and evergreen groves.

The skyscraper lines and country dell roads.

The cafe on Main and the in front of the flowercart on Second.

The parking esplanade and the robot spaceship.

You are none of those places;

I checked.  You were gone.

But here, with me, inside this lulled heart,

a mini drumbeat sounds out the syllables of your name.

Nothing’s finer than the taste of this tortured heart.

for Everything exists by this dream of you.

…though the stars walk backward)

i was trying. for the last 18 minutes.

to describe a feeling i had a few moments ago. it was lovely. unexpected. and lived too briefly.

 it reminded me of what it was to see.hear.smell.taste.feel someone’s heart.

but because everything i wrote- i deleted.

i thought i would just steal words for this one.

thanks e.e


dive for dreams
or a slogan may topple you
(trees are their roots
and wind is wind)
trust your heart
if the seas catch fire
(and live by love
though the stars walk backward) 
honour the past
but welcome the future
(and dance your death
away at the wedding)
never mind a world
with its villains or heroes
(for good likes girls
and tomorrow and the earth)
in spite of everything
which breathes and moves, since Doom
(with white longest hands
neating each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds
-before leaving my room
i turn, and (stooping
through the morning) kiss
this pillow, dear
where our heads lived and were.