It’s not late but it certainly isn’t early.
I know you wanted a poem but tonight I needed someone to write to,
something to write for.
The moon isn’t full,
though it feels it should be.
I know that by the time you get this there will be sun,
No matter how strange it is to picture the light.
My uncle died today, we met once when I was little.
I found out through a Facebook post on my phone.
I didn’t cry,
even though I think I should have.
Last night I had a dream I was swimming in a lake with Taylor Swift,
Her hair didn’t get wet when she went under water and everything she said made you want to like her,
The moon isn’t whole
And I’m still struggling with my words.
They get stuck,
The man in the chair next to me is someone I used to know
He leans over and asks if he can share an idea, all smiles and charm.
I don’t want to say yes but I do.
There is chest hair reaching from the collar of his shirt
He is reading a book on quantum physics,
Part of me wants to tell him he is full of shit
Part of me doesn’t.
All my thoughts are tangled up in line
And I don’t know where to start
Around me there are people plugged into their laptops,
There are bored waitresses
and old coffee.
This isn’t the poem I wanted to give you.
It’s not pretty,
My pinky finger rests on the delete key
I want my words to mean something
I think we all do.
Seven billion sets of honey comb hands clawing for beauty.
Clawing for like me.
Clawing for love me.
I want to give the quiet and chaos.
I want to give the pieces of me I’m okay with.
And gift glimmers of the ones I’m not.
Thrift store puzzle box thoughts
In the coffee shop It’s later than before
And everything seems to circle back
and wonderfully whole,
all at once,
I am here
and on your side of the world,
in your daytime,
in your music,
So are you.