Core 4 Revised

These are four poems that I’ve revised, and that I feel represents my work. The first draft of each of this can still be seen on my Poetry in Progress page.

Paper Tigers

I know this is wrong
Yet I keep the world
At arm’s length.

I decry injustices brought
Upon the disenfranchised
While actively benefiting
From the unpaid labor of
Starving children on the 
Other side of the globe.
I wear patches that declare
Myself a rebel, patches
Sewn by hands that have
Never worked a real day.

My heart bleeds for the
Images of the dead and dying
I see on the internet
While I continue to scroll
Without paying a second glance.

I know this is wrong
Yet still I keep the world
At arm’s length.

Is this vicarious pain
Just a performance to
Convince others - 
No, not others,
Myself - 
That I am more than just

A coward?

I am a cardboard peacock.
See my bright colors,
See my declarations,
And know there is nothing 
else behind me.

“You Just Haven’t Found the Right One Yet.”

Everybody says I’m missing out,
but I just don’t understand.
All of my friends spend their day
at the theme park standing in line,
waiting for something that
might be fun for a short time.
When they’re done with the ride,
I watch them scamper to the
nearest trash can as they
puke out their guts.

That’s not to say I don’t see the appeal.
Sitting next to some other excited soul,
growing tension as you rise together into the sky
until there’s a great, fast moment as you
rocket down the hill screaming as loud as you can.
It sounds exhilarating.

When I watch my friends as they pair off
desperate to reach the peak,
they seem so excited, those adrenaline junkies.
I sit and watch. Alone on the park bench,
I wait for them to finish.
I feel like I do miss out on something I can’t feel.

When I try to get in line,
I get nervous and run off
before I even reach the car.
The seats are uncomfortable,
the speed is enough to make me sick,
heights make me nauseous,
and I abhor physical touch.

They tell me those don’t matter, that
being that close to someone is special.
What they don’t seem to get
through their speed-demon heads
is that maybe,
just maybe,
I don’t like roller coasters.

Letter to a Name

Dear Adam,

Oh, how I wish you were dead.
Your mere existence reminds
me of the worst parts
of life. The strained smiles,
the suits that fit a tad too tight,
and the muffled songs that never
escape the bedroom.

I don’t know why I thought I could
erase you from my life.
You were a marker of an
embarrassing past, a
mistake to be corrected,
and yet you continue to haunt me.

But now I think you’re in hospice,
and I’m scared. Scared of what
life without you, without family,
is like. At one point in time,
I hated you but now I feel like
you’re the family dog in need of
being put down. I look back
at photos of us and I see that I’m
not happy, but I don’t think you were
either. It’s for the best, I think, but
I’m not quite able to let go yet.

Maybe after I move out West,
maybe after mom dies,
I can finally put you to rest.
But for now, we still have 
a few years in us yet.

A Poem for a Crow

Crows can recognize specific people.

Looking back, I realize
you said “I love you”
like “goodbye.”
Between where you were and where I am
there’s 700 miles
as the crow flies.

And yet I feel your absence like
a stone in my stomach.

In them, I see you.
Black feathers stark against
grey bark and blue sky.
I see the pictures you took of
flat woods,
pastel flowers,
crawling bugs,
pretty sunsets,
and dark train tracks.

Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t
have stopped you when you tried
to skip your meds and take that bus
to Portland. 

Maybe then, I would have
been able to hug you at least once.
Maybe then, I would have
been able to calm the fury inside for at least a moment.
Maybe then, I would have
gotten some sort of closure.

When I hear them shout at me,
I don’t know if it’s a cruel mockery
or if it’s you trying to tell me
that you’re okay now.