cool shit

Life ain’t always about

doing the things you want to do,

more likely than not it’s

doing the things you have to do.

And maybe some cool shit along the way.

Casco Bay

Life was shit

and life

was all we had

stuck staring

at the Casco Bay

from a lighthouse

that dark summer

where nothing

would go right

and everything went

predictably wrong.

We held each other

in the morning fog

sharing our breath

as if on life support

barely hanging on

you and I and a plug

but we’d picked blueberries

earlier that month

and though life

was shit that summer

nothing went to waste.

The reason our parents told us not to worry about the mail.

So

here’s the thing.

You’ve got two options.

Either succumb to the pressure

or roll with the punches.

Take note, being an adult

means a diet of eating shit,

and just when you’re ahead,

another bill arrives,

a parking ticket

a meter reading

a doctor visit that’s killing you.

Just spare us

the headache

and chew

with your

mouth closed.

Because we all have our own plate to eat.

No one is asking for seconds.

Saying Goodbye.

It’s been like beating a dead horse.

From day one, it just wasn’t there.

But we often emote like light through a diamond.

We listen to fortune tellers.

And cosplay for our own reasons.

But bloody knuckles aren’t more than bloody knuckles.

I’ll admit, saying goodbye was never my strong suit.

So for the sake of getting shit done.

The horse, long since buried.

I’ll say hello one more time.

Hello!

And now I’m saying goodbye.

We’ve all got our own way of getting out.

It’s difficult to get out sometimes.

Like clawing at the walls of a well.

Fighting because you’re up there and I’m down here.

And even though you throw me many ropes,

they’re all covered in shit and slime.

My hands clench tightly, fingers ooze with stank

only to slide back down.

I stew in a bed of roses for a while,

picking at the petals one by one.

Then we’re back at it, ropes covered in roses, shit and slime.

I sort of use the slack from the rope to heave myself,

slowly from slime covered stone to stone,

eventually making my way out.

Only to find you sleeping next to a tree.

The rope tied tight around it’s base.

And I watch your eyes dance under your eyelids.

I’m in awe of your use of knots,

your ability to sleep so sound.

So I sit a while, next to you, and it’s peaceful there.

We’ve all got our own way of getting out.