I’m going to stop sharing my ideas with people.
Maybe you should too.
Not that everyone should, or that it’s always a bad thing, but the more often you share your ideas with other people, the less often you’re actually going to follow through on them. At least, that’s been the case for me.
I have a bad habit of feeling the inner gestation of something exciting and original, only to cut it into pieces and share the slices with anyone willing to listen. This ends up leaving me with a mere morsel of motivation left over for myself.
I could say
that the pieces are in place
that the deepest creases have been greased
and that I now possess the steely demeanor
of a well-oiled machine
I could pretend
it all functions
with the graceful ease
of a veteran wing
the awkward stumbling
from the nest
Always mistaking the falling for flight
Always finding my feathers
I hit the ground
But I’m not a fresh leg out of the egg
The joy of a toy out of the box
I am in perpetual repair
Remaking missing pieces
Replacing forgotten faces
with secondhand expressions
and clunky heart parts…
I was angry the other day.
In fact, I was downright pissed.
You see, I bought a used car about a month ago. I got a really good deal on it and it runs and looks great. Little to no maintenance required as of yet.
As we all know, when you first buy something new (regardless of it technically being used) you want to keep the new thing looking as good as you can for as long as you can before the inevitable happens and it starts to get worn down.
Think about your phone.
When you first…
Dry nose, two ears
Tea pot steamin’
Left the Boy Scout tying knots
I’m Red Hot Heaven
horns, hooves, the lot
Just show me red skin
Dead black nails
A pitch fork and a serpent tail
Let’s see this evil
eye to eye
I won’t lose my nerve but
I can try
Let’s gamble for the big heart ache
Is God the host, or just a fake?
I’ll splash the pot, my last All-in
You’ll have my chips, good deeds and sins
It’s not so simple, says the Void.
“You talk back?” I say, half-annoyed.
I grew up with parents who argued…a lot.
I mean genuine screaming matches that almost seemed to shake the foundations of the house. My mother screeching out of hysteric frustration, my father’s grumbling revving up to a fever pitch like a rusted engine given the oiled elixir of blood-red anger.
My brother and I kept ourselves distracted enough with video games and music to let the family feud play out in the background like the faint crackling of old vinyl. It was just a fact of life, something as seemingly natural as anything else in our young lives. Trees grew…
It’s the thing that keeps us uncomfortable. The thing that keeps us restless, always looking somewhere else for the answer. It’s the feeling that comes when the novelty of newness melts away and we’re left with the tangible reality of whatever disappointing prize was hiding under all that sweet novel chocolate.
It’s the feeling that nothing we do and nowhere we end up ever feels like it’s what we should be doing or where we should be.
So, with restless legs and a fluttering chest, we continue moving our attention back and forth until our anxiety gets the better of…
I expected too much from you.
I voluntarily crossed my arms and fell backwards into you like this relationship was a one-sided trust fall.
Me, eyes closed and throwing the weight of my world into your unsuspecting hands; you, reduced to the hill I chose to die on. Objectified and drained of the life-affirming qualities that drew me to you in the first place.
Infantilized like a child holding onto the folds on his mother’s dress, I left the destination up to you. Meanwhile, I entitled myself to be merely led wide-eyed at the unceasing chaos of daily life and…
A restaurant where alcohol may as well be the grease keeping the entire beastly machine from collapsing in on itself. By that I mean that it’s no surprise to be randomly handed beers, shots, extra drinks, or any other sort of brain-draining inebriator while on the job.
I came home pretty buzzed tonight.
I live with a few coworkers and no home was home to offer me another drink as I walked through the door so as to save me from actually thinking about if I even wanted it or not.
I walked into my empty room and felt a…
Another light-foot against the static of the tide.
The soles of my shoes making imprints so shallow you’d be hard-pressed to discover I was there at all. I run along the foam of the creeping surf as I play a game of Gotcha with the suds. My path of indents being a straight shot until a Hail Mary stretch of wave comes quickly fizzling to my feet in an attempt to soak my socks. I veer slightly to the left and run back along the edge of the receding bubbles. Not this time you salty dog.
There’s a place I…