broken streams

the problem with me
writing stream of consciousness
is the fact that i start
and stop

with no reason

and i worry about what
i'm about to say

and the consequences of 
what will be said

so i listen
to what i think i'm going
to think

tell what i don't have
any reason to tell

and live like i know
the difference between a
good me

and a bad one

now that i think of it
this isn't a stream
at all

but line segments
in search of a target

and the promise of
popcorn besides

(true)

decisions

i feel like
if i hug her
i can't stop

so i won't start

i feel like
if i listen to her
i can't function

so i shun her

i feel
every step she takes
in her day

away from my sight

pulls my heart
so tight

it can't beat again

so i leave again

(no)

broke

i forgive you
all your awkwardness

i forgive you
all your jokes and
untterances

i forgive you
all of that

for just a little peace

i'll stop trying
at this time

i'll stop looking
for what completes me

i'll close off
all the passions
inside

don't worry

they don't matter anymore

(done)

differences

can there really be
true understanding
between people as different
as us?

me with my wild hair
feeling too many feelings
trembling in exhaustion 
over other people's troubles

and you sensibly looking
over the heads of the crowd

searching for my shadow

tracing my faltering steps
in unsteady sand

following me to my doom
which i always fear is very soon

but to-morrow never comes

(us)

#this

can't measure

what you can't hold

feline diverson

don't know
how you got in here

don't like
how you stretch across
my bed

like a cat
cool and confident
silouetting shadows
in the night

i keep to my books
on one side

hiding from the threat
i perceive

never knew i needed
you

until you came stalking in

https://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/2019-april-pad-challenge-day-3

for the plus

walking down empty halls
trying every door

looking for the places i used to explore

wishing there was more than a whisper
to hear

from the ones so dear to my heart

it was more than a network
of wires and fuses

it was more than the net worth
of a thousand jacuzzis

it was a hand in the darkness
that guided my muse

down paths the old me would never have used

pushing me past the steel gears and
electric beams

into a memory of discovery and dreams


(know)