I was rereading a few of my old things. poems. scribbles.
And I found a poem/minddump in an old file.
It doesn’t have a date on it. Because, for several weeks last year, I irresponsibly neglected to include dates and thus have no recollection of when exactly some of the pieces were written.
I remember writing this one and being so frustrated that I couldn’t figure out how to make it sound the way I wanted it to.
But when I read it a couple days ago, I actually liked how it was in its half-poem-half-rant form that really has no rhythm or flow at all.
Instead, it has personality.
Here you are:
i woke up with my love beside me
he’s large and black,
and a dog.
he keeps his head on the pillow next to mine.
the pillow had belonged to his namesake.
occasionally, he snuggles under the covers– but he’s not suppose to do that.
when i wake up, i can put my arms around him
and remember how he’s more snuggly than any other person who has lied in the same place.
to be honest
this probably isn’t their fault.
with my habit of pouring gasoline on the parts of life i actually care about
and freezing out the people i don’t,
well. you can see why i wake up with my dog to cuddle with every morning.
i don’t resent this
i actually prefer it.
i dream and scribble while he lies at my feet
he always goes back to bed after we’ve woken up, and i’ve made my coffee and let him out
so he can smell the dirty city’s morning air.
really though- he’d be okay with any morning air.
he’ll sit on those steps out back, and when he realizes how long it’s been since we’ve talked,
he comes back inside to be my shadow.
i type. he snuggles.
he doesn’t know
how terrible i am at being next to people
as i wrap myself in all my own thoughts
and resent anyone’s misunderstanding
of how i have to be.
he doesn’t mind
my secret soaring and crashing
the way my mind resembles a poorly flown airplane.
he doesn’t beg
for my attention when i just don’t have the time
to give it.
yes he does.
he’ll sit there and whine and cry and bark
until i give him every ounce of everything i have
but for some reason
i don’t mind this as much.
he’d never use
me for my extra words and
my spare moments of affirmation
he’d never forget
me on the corner of some dark and dreary memory
he’d never neglect
to say goodbye if he decided that life
just wasn’t for him.
he’d never lose
in such a way
that would prevent me
from wrapping my arms around him
from snuggling my feet under him
from cuddling next to his hot breath.
from hearing his loud heart beat.
that reminds me
of what it’s like
for someone else
to exist next to me.