kscruggs
straight lines
tiny up
maintain our standards
if you have time to lean,
you have time to clean.
ironed hair,
slightly singed,
stick straight.
i am always leaping
from one change to the next,
certain that this one
finally
will bring me what i seek.
sometimes I travel to cities
where no one knows me.
I stroll through crowded streets
without worrying about seeing someone
that I used to know.
I enjoy these moments of freedom,
of solitude in company.
it is smothering, living in one place for too long.
passport clutched in my hand,
all my possessions on my back,
i'm coming home.
the customs official welcomes me back
to the country i left a year ago,
but i am already looking past him,
down the stark hallway,
ready to hold your face in my hands
again, at last
i'm home.
in the dryer, there is always lint. when it has been a good week, there are pieces of sticks and grass stuck in it. that means that i have spent time outside, breathed in fresh air, felt the weight melt away from my shoulders.
onward we trudge,
past the corpses of dark memories,
through the tree stumps of the past
and the brambles of the present.
always looking forward,
we never look back.
I wish I could keep things casual with my job. Text it when I felt like it, make a plan to meet up, keep things short and sweet. Wish I could stop myself from getting invested, never take work home, never worry about it when we weren't together.
I've never been able to stop myself from falling in deep.
I want to see it from on top of a mountain,
from the highest point on earth.
I want to see it from the moon,
from the sun,
from the furthest galaxy from here.
Maybe then it won't seem like the end of everything.
i have ash on my forehead,
a safeguard against evil.
nothing will touch me
if i move my hands just right--
father, son, holy ghost--
nothing will touch me
if i say the right words
if i visit the right places
if i do the right things.
i will make the choice
again, again again.
i will be trapped here
but safe.
She stood in the kitchen with her apron on, like always. Hip leaned against the closed oven door, one foot perched atop the other--a balancing act. This is how I will always remember my mother, with a wooden spoon in her hand and the smell of something simmering in the air. Every important conversation of my childhood took place in this scene, my mom cooking dinner and me sitting in a chair, legs folded under me and all crumpled up on myself while she listened to my confessions.
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