What Could Possibly Matter More Than Meaning What You Don’t Have The Answers For?

What’s the point in asking the question

If your voice is already defeated

I’d go blind just trying to see it

You know everyone is trying to beat it—

If there’s pain then that means there’s a reason

If there’s truth then it’s hard to believe in

Still it’s hard not to relive this feeling

Where everyone everyone’s stealing—

It’s like selling your grief for a grievance

Why the hell would you even break even

Doing all we could to deceive them

It’s all wasted time wasting time healing—

It’s like playing pretend dressed in your skin

Or saying the pledge of allegiance

When there’s no one to please or believe in

It only matters as much as you mean it

Unanswerable Questions

The tourists stop, and stare.

“Mommy is this why we’re here?”

“Yes,” says mommy kindly,

“this my dear is why we’re here.”

Then, they calmly walk away.

To understand one’s suffering

To understand one’s suffering

Is to understand our own,

Knowing causes pain—

But still with hope we try

To understand one’s suffering

Is to be on their side, regardless

Of the awful many cuts

Through the tenderness of night—

Their aim is (not) to heal

But still with hope we lie,

To understand one’s suffering(…)

Like fruit picked from a vine.

Healing

Like a child sent to his room

I’m stuck staring, blindly

thinking about what I’ve done.

Because I’m still healing, I mean

it’s really no excuse except to acknowledge how

I’m just like everyone…

magic eight balls

I know I couldn’t have seen what I saw,

but I know I saw it anyway.

An old man, waving, his hair as gray as ash,

his beard trimmed short, a weathered Yankee cap,

his eyes like magic eight balls, googling my senses

causing me to stop and turn, knowing

I’d imagined what couldn’t be. But the mind

doesn’t have to play by any rules

that aren’t of its own creator,

like those magic eight balls whose advice

never really did make much sense,

whose questions we never truly sought to answer.

Yin and Yang and Me

I had this friend
who did nothing all day long

and this other friend
who never stopped moving.

So all day long
I sat and wondered about these two,

like wings of a dragonfly
my mind raced back and forth

up and down
turning them over like a pair of Jokers,

all day long,
sometimes, all night even.

Pacing back and forth
I never stopped moving

contemplating everything
which turned into nothing.

One for the romantics.

Watching myself
estranged
through the eyes
of passerby
I,
get this question
all the time.
Why?
Why here?
Why this place?
Why not New York, or
somewhere far, far away –
the kid checking me in to
Planet Fitness doesn’t quite
understand why I’m here –
I know this because
I’ve been there, and there,
more places really than I care
Philadelphia, New York, San Diego
and what did I find?
People!
Yes
people,
glorious people,
who like I
wished to know why?
We romanticize
the lives that are not ours.