We both sleep on our backs.

It would be better if one of us slept on our side. More room in the bed.

But both of us sleep on our backs.

I like coffee and you like tea.

It would be better if we both liked one or the other. More time in the morning.

But I like coffee and you like tea.

You think sad movies are when love dies and I think they’re when the dog dies.

It would be better if we had like minds. Easier to pick out movies.

But you think sad movies are when love dies and I think they’re when the dog dies.

We find comfort in each other and the world finds comfort in everyone else.

It would be better if we found comfort in everybody else. More comfortable.

But we find comfort in each other.

We would be better if we abandoned everything that has sewn us into individuals.

But what a boring, efficient painting that would be.

I saw a flower yesterday

I watched as it lost its pedals.

And even though it was silent

I knew it was screaming.

Screaming for all the dawns it would not see.

I saw you yesterday.

I watched as the light disappeared from your eyes.

And even though you were silent

I knew you were screaming.

Screaming for the dusk that would be your last.

It is Christmas Eve and I am driving along near barren streets. It is as if every car I see is a crop in a fruitless harvest, suprising, foreign, out of place.

I pass by houses with candles in the windows and trees in the living room. Most people stay in on Christmas Eve, but not everyone has the luxury.

Not everyone can go home.

The Chinese couple on Main who own a almost bankrupt tea shop cannot go home; they can't afford to miss the buisness.

The one customer inside the tea shop cannot go home; she can't face the family she knows is falling apart.

The older man at the bar next door to the tea shop with no family, already on his third scotch cannot go home; he cannot sit in an empty house and be haunted by what could've been.

The young vagabond outside the bar, smoking a cigarette, cannot go home; he doesn't know where it is.

And the young girl in the freezing cold of late December with needle marks down her arms, in the alleyway between the bar and the tea shop cannot go home; she has forgotten how to get there.

It is Christmas Eve and I am driving along a near barren streets.

Every light I see throuh a window is like a breath of air to my drowning body; it shows me someone is there, someone is home on Christmas Eve.

Every dark window that crosses my eyes is like another foot I am being dragged down; that means they are not home, and the magic of it all is already gone.

I am not driving anymore. I am in a coffee shop.

I am inside a coffee shop Christmas Eve with people who are not home.

It is strange because it is not that any of us cannot go home, it is that we do not go home.

I order my coffee that is too hot to drink and ponder all the reasons people cannot go home and do not go home.

I am inside a coffee shop Christmas Eve with silent strangers.

I sip my burnng hot coffee, not because I like pain, but because I need to stay awake.

For if I get too tired, I'll have to go home.

I do not go home.

I do not go home because I know if I'll do, I will in front of my Christmas tree and stare at the lights until they burn holes the size of universes into my eyes.

I know if I do I will be captive to my own experience.

I know if I do I will have to bear witness as my own innocense is stripped away.

#poem#deep#emotional#philosophy#christmas#holiday

I see the birds in the trees

I hear them singing their song

I watch them fly away joyfully

I pray God will make me free

I see the fish in the stream

I hear them jumping

I watch them swim away quickly

I pray God will make me free

I see all the bees

I hear them buzzing

I watch them ride the breeze

I pray God will make me free

I see the white men looking at me

I hear them yelling

I watch them unable to believe

I pray God will make me free

I see myself heave

I hear myself fade

I watch myself leave

I think God is finally setting me free

This Thanksgiving was unlike all others,

And it happened where it always has, at dear Grandmother’s.

Grandmother was starting to get old, as grandmothers do.

So we asked ourselves, “Can she really make all the food?”

This question scurried across all of our minds

And the answer, we agreed, is one we must find.

We all volunteered, aunts, uncles, and cousins.

Everyone volunteered, we did by the dozens.

Aunt Rachel insisted on bringing the beans,

While Aunt Susan declared she would collar the greens.

Uncle Bob said he could prepare the roast,

But Uncle Rob said he could only make toast.

Cousin Wanda said she could bring us some chips

And Cousin Rhonda countered with an offer of dip.

Great-Aunt Jill requested she’d make the ham,

So Great-Uncle Will suggested he cook the yams.

Dessert was next and Cousin Kate proposed she would make the pie.

At this, Grandmother asked us all, “Why?”

The fact that she was getting older, no one dare imply.

So, this Thanksgiving wasn’t going to be any different,

But let me tell you, the change was quite significant.

The evening started out great, but as the patience decreased

We decided it was time to start with the feast.

The food was the same, the same as last year.

This left our heads vaguely unclear.

How could a women frankly, very old

Seem to have Thanksgiving so very controlled.

After the meal came the discussion

Of who would do the dishes, Bob offered, and this would cause repercussions.

See Bob was quite clumsy, he lacked coordination,

He fell and it started the Thanksgiving conversation.

The pies flipped over, their tins were on top

Which revealed their sale stickers, they were all store bought!

Everyone looked at Grandmother with pity and disgust.

Now she knew she must fess up.

“Well,” began Grandmother, “you know,”

She continued, “It started when I decided to do Thanksgiving alone.

Thanksgiving dinner required much more than I expected,

And I thought store bought items would leave dinner unaffected.

But, ever since then,

I’ve bought Thanksgiving for 60 dollars and 17 cents.”

Popsicle dripping

Lemonade sipping

Tire swinging

Rock skipping

Burger flipping

Handlebar gripping

Lovers kissing

Ball kicking

Kids swimming

Song singing

Summer

Let's raise a glass to the past.

To the people we used to be,

You and me.

Let's give a toast to the people we we no longer know.

To the people who walked right out of our lives,

And to the people who stayed behind.

Let's give a cheer to those who never disappeared.

Let's give a hand to all the people we didn't understand.

Let's let out a cry for all those who've asked us why.

Let's raise up our voices for those that gave us choices.

Let's give a standing ovation for those that got us out of bad situations.

Let's never leave, for everyone who's accepted our apologies.

And let's never, ever, forget who we used to be.