Detail Oriented

​I am convinced I know nothing

when asked for specifics.

I appreciate vague ideas I can misconstrue,

so that I might get ahead in a conversation

that I have decided is uncomfortable.

I am wary of subjects I am familiar with.

Undue questions are deceiving.

As if, my abilities to attend to small details

were an indication of intelligence, 

or a supposed lack thereof.

I get no reference to this, that, or the other

despite entertaining ideas I do not care for.

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What I Know

You push me away–

slowly,

with no intent to do so

thinking you’re learning trust

showing you know how to.

Learning isn’t easy–

clearly,

you’ve lost yourself in habits,

thoughts you’d never think to take on

despite your best intentions.

Do not tell me secrets–

quietly,

it builds no special bond

we are all the same here

there are thoughts we should not share.

Questions


When did you go silent?
Was it in the stillness of the night,
in the quiet of the dark?
Was it the heart of your question
that made you lose your spark?
Do you happen to remember what
the future might have been?
Do you believe in happy endings,
can you remember a badly lived last life?
Did you know that you have lost
a fear-filled, hopeless heart?
Are you living in the present now?
Do you think you can remember
how I might have seemed?

Pages


​I tend to skip pages–
then often lose places
of things that I’ve taken
but forgotten I’d kept.
I put your heart
in my pocket
and wept.

Words

Flowery speech does not affect me.
I stray away from eloquence–
believing strength within the small,
the quaint, and sometimes dreary
simplicity of the mundane.
Choosing words that mean little to nothing,
unless put in a place that make sense,
perhaps, with a plebeian level of discontent.
Simple nature calls to me,
no chance for misinterpretation,
’tis what it is, a demonstration;
the righteous extent of physicality.
Humanity reaching for a branch
just beyond grasp, a risk for it all
while an uncertain future awaits
seeming far off in the distance.

Waves

Inconsistent

as wind is

off the ocean

billowing with strength

built by waves

full of tumultuous motion

then lost in losing hope,

blowing back and forth

undecided.

Incapable of standing against

the shallow undertows

of a misguided youth–

lost in the past

memories lapping at feet.

Cold seeps into bones

after long moments

contemplating

sad thoughts of the sea.