Clean Slates

 

Every day is a clean slate.
Every minute a fresh start.
Every second new.

We are children
We are idiots
All we do is blunder,
Make mistakes.

We’re lucky we get
Countless
Redos.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Humbled

So I’m sitting here, writing, in my angry place. About suicide, the state of the nation, all these deep poems. Trying to decide which terrible thing to post. 

Then I get a group text from my sister. It’s a gibberish link.

She does not stay up late at night. She does not use ellipses, ordinarily. And she does not send links. She’s not really techy at all. She doesn’t even open the links we send to her!

Spam spam spam spam spam.

I tell her she’s not being herself, and to change her password. My sister didn’t respond. Everyone in the thread considers themselves lucky not to have clicked it (except the one person who did and it didn’t load).

The preview said “dogapillar in my back yard.”

The group is disappointed that we can’t click on this enticing link. We try to find adequate replacements in GIFs. No dogapillars, unfortunately. Caterpillars, cat caterpillars, and old men with caterpillar mustaches. Images abound. Nothing can fill the need. We didn’t know we had this need until we weren’t allowed to see it.

Then she messages again and says that she really did send it. This was it: 

Dogerpillar-in-the-backyard8230-428cf1

 

So was sparked much discussion on what the appropriate time and syntax is for sending pictures of dogapillars. Should there be a code word to accompany it so we know it’s a legit dogapillar photo? More related GIFs and photos were exchanged.

At long last, the discussion was concluded, and bedtime announced. 

I got back to my poetry rant. It looked so self-important and… small. I can’t post this shit. I have a hard enough time taking myself seriously as it is. Nothing compares to long, ridiculous dogapillar-centric conversations. I have been fully outmatched.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Paper Boy

 

I had a dream
I was a paper boy
I had paper hair
Paper teeth
I crinkled when I laughed
And when I cried
I fell apart.
Paper isn’t allowed to cry.
Human moistures destroy
Anything made of paper.

The next day
My old papers fallen away
I’d become paper mache.

One step stronger
For having been destroyed.
It will happen again
And again.

Always a circumstance is greater than you.
Always you are crushed.
Always you are reconstructed.

Scar tissue
Is stronger
Than anything ordinary.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Winning him over

 

The first day
We showed him the world we had created.
Eager for him to join,
We overwhelmed him with a tidal wave
Of stories, emotions, what made us laugh,
Everything we had learned.
There was a wall behind his eyes.
He watched us but did not understand.
We were sure we’d messed up.
Insulted him somehow.
Or maybe he didn’t like who he saw.

That night, we talked it over.
His worried face in our minds grew clear.
What we had taken for judgment was fear.

He was the one who hadn’t been included
Who felt like he didn’t belong.
He was left out
Left out
And we hadn’t read it right.

The next chance we got
We treated him with more care
Curated his responses
And were rewarded
With uncommon warmth and gentleness.
He relaxed
Into a sage glow
And told us of his life, fears, loves.
Such is the difference
Belonging can make.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

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