Day 44 – Exhale

Sure some things are going wrong
but if I forget about all that
a lot of things are good

I try to exhale all that poison
but the well comes up dry
and if there’s still a couple drops
there’s no harm
and who needs to know?


Day 239 – All The Pieces

What they all say is wrong with me
is really not what’s wrong with me.
I swear.

They say it’s love that people lack,
that lack of love is what’s wrong with me
but I keep telling them
that’s not it.

Who can think about love when they are
being thinned out?
I mean like, drawn and quartered?
Scraped over too much bread?
Phased out?

Dropped on the ground and shattered
so everyone can have a piece,
but only one or two pieces each-
and that’s the thing.

When you tell them you wish there was someone
who had all the pieces, they think
you want someone to put you back together,
and I don’t.

But someone else has got to realize
we’re all in pieces, like the points on a compass rose-
the pieces can never touch but they belong
just the same.

And it isn’t love that’s lacking
because the world loves what they can see,
but sometimes you just need someone
who can see all the pieces,
and knows that you can be North and South
on any given day
and a lot of the times you’re South-East
and catty-corner to West
but you’re never there for long.

The world thinks when someone is smart enough to see
all your pieces, that is love,
and they think lack of love is what I suffer from,
but love is not what’s wrong with me.

Day 238 – Something’s Very Wrong

It’s like headphones left playing on a desk,
some pop star chipmunking from a strange little world,
giving her sexy best to whatever was once important,
and you can’t find the beat,
and you can’t understand a word,
and you just laugh.

Ruler of the universe,
everyone’s so blasé to you.

It’s like something’s very wrong and no one sees it,
no one notices your shoelaces untied, your untouched food,
no one ever asks you about it.
But you listen and you’re getting tired of listening.

Ruler of the universe,
everyone’s so blasé to you.

It’s like suddenly it’s you inside the headphones,
crooning your mournful best about whatever seems important,
until you realize there’s no one listening
and there’s no more reason to sing.

Ruler of the universe,
everything’s so quiet for you.

Day 221 – Nothin’ Wrong Wid Us

Five girls on the lineup, none of us blonde,
I guess maybe that’s the problem.

We all got degrees, we all got jobs
and none of us got a text back.

The men must be waiting for a firestorm
or the men are chicken-shit.

If they’d asked they might’ve learned that we
are an army of treadmill dancers,
Scrabble champions, bargain hunters,
tech-savvy readers with our glasses on,
smooth operators with our high heels on,
nonsense shredders with our work pants on,
and nobody’s lovesick fools.

We take wine together to commiserate-
I mean, commemorate-
what we already know:
there ain’t nothin’ wrong wid us.

We don’t necessarily believe it
but together we know the truth:
there ain’t nothin’ wrong wid us.

And we try to be valiant
when the world says “make him wait”
and the world says “make your move”
and we’re sick of the head games
and we’re sick of the numbers game
and they say when you’re completely frozen
that’s when the firestorm comes.

And we don’t dare ask when
there’s nothin’ wrong wid us.