I cannot tell if it’s a longing memory,
or I’m imagining a new conversation we’re having.

I’ll wait patiently for the words to come.

We’ve plenty of time here
in the blurred-line realms of missing you.

One Day in September

The horde attacked,
and the towers fell.
Screams abounded
and bodies tumbled.
The center of defense
lost more lives, and
the country shuddered.
A fourth plane hurtled
toward the capital, and
people rose, offering
their lives for the U.S.A.
“Let’s roll!”
The world didn’t breathe
on that catastrophic day.

I’ve pulled the knives from my back
Cleaned and restored them
And placed them in a shadow box

The dripping wounds have turned to scars
Remnants of betrayal
From those who have claimed
To love me

They say the greater the love,
The greater the pain,
The heartbreak
The grief

Meanwhile,
You’re left to clean up the mess,
Pick up the pieces of your heart
And, somehow
Learn how to be whole
Again

Since that moment
on 20/11/2024,
I let myself cry,
anywhere,
any way,
any how.
Since 20/11/2024,
when Bruce put me under,
and I let out that big sob,
and released
all my emotions,
I give myself permssion
to cry.
It is good for you.
It is healthy for you.
It is a total release of positive energy.

My dandelion girl,
I sit with in the park.
Maybe she's no beauty queen,
but as loyal as the common Lark!

You can search
the world over,
but you'll never find another.
One who's more devoted
to your state of mind!

Given your imperfections
it shouldn't be hard to find.
What really moves her
she's as pure as can be!

When you're lost and dreaming,
she placates your tortured mind.
No one else does that.
She's as good as refined gold!

This Life, oh it is far too brief.
That traitor, Time, steals like a thief,
but days are long when songbirds sing:
sweet sounds they share this sacred spring.

These hours, when golden rays feel warm
(cut short by sudden senseless storm)
still shine sublime inside my soul,
a memo crafted to console.

These lines, laid down before I pass,
(as dew drop pearls that grace the grass,)
will fade, like poet's toils and tears,
to leave sweet dreams of golden years.

To the god I believe in
On a night that
I am barely breathing

Send a stop sign
For these many
thoughts of mine

Find an empty space
For the thousand tears
Running down my face

Don't look away
Cause that's when
my mind takes
The steering wheel

Reroute me
since these
Street signs
Don’t tell me
How far I am
From home

If the streetlights
Desert me
Turn on the stars
So, I can see
The coming scars

It seems easier for me
to talk about this now,
three years later,
after the chaos,
after the disruption
I experienced.
It appears to most people
who know me
that my mind is clear.
Deep in my soul,
deep in my mind,
I have returned,
but not just to what I was before.
I am a different version of myself.
I am a more confident version of myself.
I am a more active version of myself.

awash with intermittent amnesia.