sometimes
the memories
and traditions
and thoughts of events gone past
get to be too much
and you are at a [relatively] low-stakes performance
and you feel the desire
no the drive
no
the absolute
need
to go to denny’s
[or any late late late night diner]
and you try to be better behaved
than your sixteen-year-old self
but you still find yourself
singing
at the table…
[but at least there was no
truth-or-dare jenga
this time]
write fast
low batt
oh no
your little arms are shaking
quaking in your shoeless boots
how long till the computer shuts down
could be two seconds
could be ten minutes
who knows
who knows
~~~
is my writing any good?
i ask in a poem
no one
will probably ever see
but me
~~~
the feels
are getting to me–
the random flashes of memory,
the stop-me-in-my-tracks because
a song reminds me of
a random day i had once
so so long ago
but it won’t leave my head–
why can’t i move on?
be the person i want to be?
connect with the child i used to be
without this inner teen crashing the party
every time i try to heal?
(i know,
i know,
it’s because i need to heal
the adolescent
as well)
kipventures 