Day 19 – You Are

You are
a mountain of pillows
after a long day.

You are
a long-awaited
Friday-night margarita.

You are
my pizza pal.

You are
a warm bath
and
a sounding board
and
a hug.

You are
common sense
when I’ve lost it.

You are
a surprise
every day

and

you are
mine.

I am
just
lucky.

Day 18 – Mormons

Maybe I shouldn’t have said all that
about the magic underwear
and the magic gold tablets

and maybe I shouldn’t have laughed
when you said they
“ascended back into the heavens.”

I probably shouldn’t have asked
if you got here
on a bike.

I didn’t have to take your book
but I knew it meant
someone else
wouldn’t read it.

I’m sorry your beliefs are
foreign and hilarious to me
since I claim to be so tolerant

but you rang my bell
and you asked for it.

Day 11 – Raw

I am one big sweaty dude
fighting another.

I am the one with the best mic skills,
and the other guy’s my boss
or the establishment
or life.

I don’t always win
but that’s the way it goes.
I don’t always win
but that’s okay

because sometimes,
for once,
I do

and it’s a sweetness
all mine.

Day 5 – There’s A Reason

There was a reason why I stayed
and a reason why you left.

There’s a reason why we thrive
in opposite climates.

There’s a reason you never
wanted to talk about,
a fear you never
wanted to feed.

I thought you were brave,
and I was small.

There’s a reason you couldn’t forget,
a reason your whiskey mouth speaks
when the rest of you can’t,
the reason I never come up
until you got trouble.

I thought, all that time,
it was you who watered seeds
but I erupted this garden alone.

And there’s a reason I don’t need
your apologies;
why you can’t forgive
yourself.

There’s a reason we ended up here:
I was never small,
and you were never brave.

Young Rose

Late nights into early morning,
hearts ablaze like shooting stars,
searching for a home that never came,
dashed upon the rocks and slipped away,
a young rose.

Press it in the pages of your heart
that’s cooled by now,
find it in a book that’s stored away.

But I don’t need a photo
to remember who I was
on windy days,
when I was a young rose.

Never saw it bloom like that again,
how it seems simpler now,
but roses go two ways when they are spent:

gone and remembered
or saved and forgot
and the trouble
is letting it die.

You Called Me A Contra

I was supposed to call you
every now and then,
I was supposed to ask you
how you’ve been.

But once you drove far enough away
not to care anymore
I never did.

I still know a song about dinosaurs we wrote
but I don’t know a thing
about you now.

Because you’d shave your head in secret
and say that we were close,
because you called me a contra
after all that time.

We were never supposed to change,
were we?

All that talk about honesty,
it came with hard conditions,
and I was never really the plan.
Not a contra.

It’s been a hundred years
but I think you’re fine
that I never called
’cause you called me a contra.

And a hundred years of maybe
becoming a contra
after all.