a letter to my biggest supporter
Dear self,
I wanted to pen a letter to you.
A letter that outlined my emotions.
A letter unapologetic…
A note on sorrow and on fear…
I don’t think I can succeed.
My spelling is shit and my typewriter is broke.
Forgive me, please, I didn’t choose this madness,
rather it chose me…
Please send help for I don’t think I understand myself fully.
My conscience has been a wild fox full of conquests.
You think you see me but the reality of the situation is clear,
You see right through me.
John: don’t tell me to behave
Mary: please speak softer, you know how easily the baby wakes
I’m the baby, sent to save us all.
I hope this letter finds you well,
and you have prosperity the rest of your days.
Write to me more frequently, as I do miss hearing updates from your extravagant trips.
Love and respect,
Timmy.
:)
:(
I was listening to Avril Lavigne when I crashed your skateboard and snapped it in half.
I’m sorry I didn’t know how to tell you.
I felt it would be easier to break up with you over aol instant messenger.
That’s also why I failed chemistry that semester, I just couldn’t stand to be in the same room as you.
Stuck on the baseball field
Smoking Marlboros I bought from Trevor down the cul-de-sac
Crying over a broken skateboard.
Life sucks: movement one
When the car left, the tree butterflies finally built cocoons.
The sun was a gentle gunshot that day.
Because the cocoons were wrapped in burlap
By halftime when we walked home.
You see I had a hold onto the cup with the writing on it saying,
“We are violent men taking the world by violent force.”
We used the desks in the office to crawl in the rafters to hide from the assembly.
And I put the mug in the coffee machine so everyone could drink hot tea with us.
Each coworker bought a mug, but the garage sale still lasted all month.
He never had a job, me that is, for he was still in bondage to a cocoon.
The yellow sleeping bags of thought shouted prayers every night.
While the air smelled like money
and sounded like wailing,
And we could see the taste of cherries.
Tomorrow we will be a better day
For we shall be
From inside of Jessie’s cocoon
In Vermont
A dog in a kennel owned by his aunts in law.
:)
It’s not like Taylor Swift could challenge me to a fist fight.
Her hair would not hold curls for that.
What she doesn’t understand is
I’ve had real teardrops on my guitar.
Not some diamond encrusted shit bought by an industry plant.
I do respect that she writes her own music.
And I totally understand a ruined reputation.
We’d be able to swap stories for hours,
A metaphorical fistfight I guess.
“I’ve always respected you for being an ally,”
I would whisper to her over some white wine.
“The LGBTQ community is furious and ready to vilify anyone!”
She won’t respond.
She’s texting some boy.
“They vilified me when they let me wander off into five years of electroshock ex-gay therapy.”
I’ll continue.
“That’s so sad...”
She’ll respond as she pulls out her guitar and the first few tears from her sadness fall on the instrument.
“I’ll always be your friend tim,”
She would say, since I would obviously win the fist fight.
Life sucks: movement two
The danger is obviously you.
You’re like an avalanche.
I swim in the sky to get away from you
Your smell reminds me of getting hit by rocks.
The sudden bird of death
(The bane of all things) will take us
And steal us
Away to hell
For satan
Snow capped mountains
Like we are living in the valleys of Colorado
Let’s buy (cold) matches
To hope to stay warm and happy.
But we don’t go to hell
We will go to heaven with the rest of the wicked.
Where we will stay in paradise with saints.
In a place where you see the light.
To touch the cloud beneath you,
To hear the prayers come from below.
The cloud can not tell you what is right and what is wrong.
Right is the difference between happiness and validation,
Wrong is the distance between true beauty and kindness.
Things are this way because you don’t tell them the truth.
It’s hot up here
In the snow capped mountains,
With the saints,
And the wicked.