ceci n’est pas une blog.

i keep track of these days

by the pills that i swallow

to delay my future,

to hold back the things that should come.

the days go by slowly but take forever,

the only agenda is one i set  -

my goals are simple, self-imposed,

responsible and mundane.

i have visions of doing as i please

in this hot summer sun -

i picture a better me

dipping my toes in the writer’s pond,

seeking my answers where he found his,

leaving rocks upon the ruins of his cabin.

nobody ever said that any of this

would make sense,

would be easy -

i recall the opposite advice.

i hear my father’s words echoing

from the stove of his tiny kitchen

as many miles away as years,

all i can do is stay true to myself.

and my youth slips away to be wasted on those younger

as the universe intends, implies, imposes.

waiting, coping, holding on,

i pound the beliefs of others

into my aching head,

into my buried soul,

wishing i could believe in me

like they do,

wishing i had the eyes of those who love me,

because they see something real

between the words.