Poison

Because your father was nursing his own bottle when he should have been nursing you.

Because sometimes there’s more poison in a memory than in the bottom of your glass.

Maybe ignorance really is bliss.

I sleep in a bunk in a double wide trailer

And somehow it feels like less of a coffin than the eleven bedroom house my father built.

Fewer chains and less pain,

because sometimes memories can kill. 

I watched him build the house when I was a kid.

Board to beam.

Beam to board.

And there was a light of opportunity 

or maybe it was hope

that I had never seen before and have never seen since.

I watched it all go up in flames.

Literally.

Metaphorically. 

And I spent years wrapping my arms around the neck of my father and telling him I loved him

praying it would be enough

to save him

from the heartache and the frustration,

and make him believe that life is worth living.

Now his hearing is going, 

but he won't get it checked, 

because it's his only way out

of the world,

of the mess,

of his mind.

And they say ignorance is bliss,

and I've always hated that saying,

but when my father rocks himself to sleep at night,

because he feels like he's failed,

I can't help but to believe it is. 

Nostalgia

One day you'll be nostalgic for today. 

Words you wish they'd said.

It wasn't your fault, you know.

It's just that sometimes life happens.

And sometimes the world feels heavy and the tears, they burn.

It wasn't your fault, you know.

It's just that sometimes your plans and my plans aren't one and the same.

And sometimes I forget how much we need each other.

It wasn't your fault, you know.

It's just that sometimes there's strength in weakness.

And I'll be your limbs and your words when you're weak.

It wasn't your fault, you know.

It's just that sometimes I forget what a big part of me you are.

And I love you.

But please know, it wasn't your fault.

Bravery.

We assume the brave ones are the ones that don't flinch when you walk behind them, the ones that don't force their hands over their ears when the screaming starts. 

But bravery isn't a man in a cape.

Sometimes bravery is simply getting out of bed in the morning and refusing to quit.

Thank you for being brave.

All of my friends moved away.

You'll find yourself apologizing for your steps,

your breath,

your laughter.

You'll find yourself apologizing for apologizing,

and they'll laugh,

scoff,

and talk. 

You'll find yourself so small, praying for the days when you can return home to an empty apartment

so that for once you can let your hair down and not worry about what you're doing wrong.

Your mother will ask you what has happened and you'll stutter through tears, before asking,

was I really this fucked up all along?

I destroyed my body for a peace of mind I never got.

You get smaller, but the weight gets heavier.

The closer you get, the further you feel.

The only way to live is to love.