the kind of reckless

my mother never told me
about the nice guys
that hide behind old wounds
and impossible dreams.

she warned me about
bad boys who were
after one thing

but she should have
mentioned the ones after your heart
with pretty words
and heartfelt promises

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thisiswhatyoumeantome

there were times
I was young and unwise
I’ve done some things
and I have these regrets
and you were there
there at the bottom
in the dark
when it hurt

but my worst fear
is that I didn’t say
thank you enough
that I could’ve said
I love you once more
with feeling

I could say the things here
and I have
but not often
or without a smile
so you’d feel the weight
of my words

but i fear my words
don’t have the same impact
in person, out loud
but you must know
what you mean to me

and here, here is the proof
this is what you mean to me

* for you

the birthday poem

i wrote a birthday poem
it might be for you
it might include
a silly rhyme or two

so here’s some words
to help ease
the fact that you’re old
(at least you can do as you please)

hopefully you’ll be wiser
and accept that I’m always right
it’ll make your life easier
so give up the fight

but most importantly
may the party gods be with you
so you don’t wake up hungover
or with an STD or two

* a silly little (fun) poem

psychobabble

I was somewhere
forced to dig deep
into the well of memories
that twist inside me

these are the things
nobody knows
the scars hidden
by time and a smooth facade

I’m sorry, the voice said.
Do you think about these things often?

the air is thick with the past
tinged with my regrets
a smattering of voices
from people long gone

I wave them away.
(one, twice, three times)
they threaten to linger
and open old wounds
that never quite knew how to heal.

no. my voice sounds unfamiliar.
I don’t think of them at all.

old habits

these are the oldest habits
the familiar paths or the
smooth timbre of your voice

they are the numbers
imprinted in my head
or a quick order
so accustomed
to life as a pair

it’s in the silence of the night
where love and laughter
once filled the deep grooves
one touch said a thousand words
and one problem could get
two solutions

it’s the pieces I had to part with
pictures, sweaters, a note tucked away
years and years built up –
yet quietly (but with small reservations)
it was all destroyed

and all I have are these habits
and they are the toughest to break