Freezer Pops

Blue skies and white clouds,
Rays of sun and soft breezes.
No, this isn't the beginning
Of a sappy love poem.

This is remembrance.
Childhood days where bare feet
Were the shoes of choice.
Wriggling your toes in the grass,
Splashing your hands in the creek.

The smell of manure on the fields.
Sitting on the concrete front stoop,
Eating a freezer pop.
Mom's smile when we brought her
Dandelion bouquets.

Sunlight streaming through the windows,
Lighting up my dad's violets.
Wind chimes and bird houses.
Forts and games of tag.

God the city is beautiful today.

Saturday

Most sleep in and let go,
I indulge my OCD.
I sweep, swifter, scrub the tub,
Clean the kitchen,
Change the sheets,
Do the laundry.

It's so satisfying.
Looking around at a clean apartment.
Clean, and empty.

I'd rather it be this:
Sleep in, have sex,
Roll into the kitchen,
Start the coffee,
Scramble some eggs,
Read the paper,
Laugh, have sex and
Shower.

Well...I'd still have to
Clean after that.
A boyfriend wont get
Rid of my OCD.

Lonely

Loneliness.
A Choking, grasping, throttling
Hand that closes around your
Throat.

A turn in your stomach,
That doubles you over,
Makes you gag.

I find myself mumbling on the street.
I'm so close to having a full, audible,
Conversation with Me, Myself and I.
I've figured out what is behind all those
Crazy, angry, people in New York.
They're lonely.
Desperate for love and attention.
Sometimes they lash out.
Sometimes they talk to themselves
Just to hear a human voice.
You may not see it, but
Sometimes they just curl up and cry.

It's so hard to stay positive.
I want to yell and kick and scream.
I don't want to tell myself it'll be "alright"
Or find my "happy place."

The only benefit to
Loneliness is the self-reflection.
What have I learned?
Lonely is really not that far
From terror.
I choose to keep people away.
Self segregating.
I'm afraid.

What is the answer?
How do you conquer the fear?

Fuck if I know.

Ross-ilism

Images on a canvas.
Tentative splotches of paint,
Colors blended and mixed.
Dab, stroke, brush,
Dip, mix, stroke, brush,
Blend, dab, swish, splotch,
Mix, stroke.

The external result is not
Remarkable.
Laughable, perhaps.
The soul feels it the most.
Colors and designs impressed
On my heart and mood.

Such a simple act, so pleasing,
Empowering.
Better than drugs.

Now I see why Bob Ross
Was such a flaky-happy
Person.

This shit rocks.

Crying

Sometimes I think I've forgotten how to cry.
My heart is hard and strong.
It beats alone,
Powerful, solitary, independent.

I eat and sleep alone,
Forcing myself to "get used to it."
I'm toughening up.
Getting ready for the onslaught
Of eternal bachelorhood.

Today I'm reminded,
The 'edge' isn't strength,
It's despair.

I cried.
The tears washed away the
Hopelessness.
A salty cleansing of my soul.

My trigger, a movie.
Is there one waiting for you?
A hug, a child in the street,
A blossom floating by on a breezy day?

God, I hope you find it soon.
This is a good place to be.