she said are you in love
love?
am i in love
with who
with what
the world
this life
a woman
a place
a city
a destination
that never comes
that never was
am i in love?
with what
with art
with words
with cooking
with food
with music
with laughter
with beer
with coffee
yes i am in love
everyday
all day
sometimes twice a day
whether i need it or not
whether it is or is not
yes i am in love
but who,
who is in love
with me?
this morning with love in my heart
and denial in my chest
i think of you
your lips
your soul
and my body
touched by you
remembered by you
loved by you
and what that felt like
the memory of a memory
forever forsaken
at the base of my skull
as i lose all control
over who i am
what i am about
or what love feels like
under the ever changing seasons
the umbrella of anguish
that disguises itself
with sweat shirts and hot coffee
and the games we all play
that lead to our broken hearted madness
this morning i unburden my heart to anyone that will listen
anyone with a screen
anyone with eyes
anyone capable of acknowledging the short failures of a life
wrapped in love
given to temptation
and delivered as if arrival on the front porch
depended upon expiration dates
coupon clippings
and the well worn sign
that read:
“contents under pressure
handle with care”
and as lips touch
eyes lock
and your hands wrap around my waist
i remember what you said
and how you said it
i will always love you.
there are so many days that i feel alone
fighting invisible ghosts
not seeing everything in front of me
and even though these losses are real
my failures come forward
one by one
talking to me
over coffee and cigarettes
discussing new ways
to torture me
as they pour cream
and sugar into my cup
and give new meaning to “loving spoonfuls”
but i know the sadness is real
i’ve seen myself on milk cartons
next to morning bowls of frosted flakes
shaking off vitamin d upbringings
and cutting crusts off peanut butter sandwiches
these mistakes
these life events
might just be the end of me
i see daylight
i see sun
i see something down the hallway
that resembles freedom
and i honestly can’t tell
if it’s death
or rebirth
or both choices
standing side by side
leaving me with decisions
above and beyond
my pay grade.
i am translucent
see thru
there is nothing left to hide anymore
i cannot run
move
or lie
all of it is too much
what you see
is what you get
i am face value
i am the cost of the trip
i am the worn out penny
from 1975
that has been around the world
lived
loved
and failed
i am translucent
i am see thru
i am daylight
fading
and lost
forever into darkness.
suicide cookies at three in the morning
i started baking about 3 years ago
when death showed up
when living wasn’t important to me anymore
three years ago
i sat at my dining room table
pills for pain
for depression
for surgery
all this and a failing marriage
a personal life that looked like a road map to schizophrenia
and death
suddenly looking so very appealing
throw in job loss
sterility
and the escalation of more then a few drinks
you have yourself a beautiful a winner
or maybe it’s: winter.
whatever it was
i was alone
counting pills at the kitchen table
midnight
no one to save me
just me
and the empty silence of my life
gone belly up
and in those deafening moments
i decided to bake cookies
because there’s only so much writing
sitting
and watching
one person can do
before hell opens up it’s doors
and swallows you whole
so it was suicide chocolate chip
and each time i baked them
i would pray
i would loose myself in the moment
between 3 cups of flour
two sticks of butter
preferably salted
baking soda
salt
and chips
but it was always at night
all alone
dying
hurting
pain
and me
sometimes miles davis would show up with “kinda blue”
sometimes i could hear ryan adams
singing “dear chicago”
but mostly it was razor blade suitcases
with the bottom falling out
and my kitchenAid
spinning out of control
needless to say it was alot of cookies
it still is
it takes years to be good at baking
years to be a good cook
or at least respectable
and to this day
i find solace
in those moments
when i measure off my ingredients
and look for new ways to make chocolate chip suicide cookies
taste like i know
what the hell i’m doing.
recipe for suicide cookies:
two sticks of salted butter(room temp)
two eggs
3/4 cup of brown sugar(dark brown taste better)
3/4 cup of sugar
half a teaspoon of vanilla
mix butter, eggs and vanilla
mix brown sugar, and white sugar together
add in sugars slowly
dry ingredients in separate bowl
three cups of flour
teaspoon of baking soda
half a teaspoon of salt
add in flour mixture slowly to wet ingreidents
chocolate chips: three kinds; nestle morsels(semi sweet), mini morsels(semi sweet), Ghirardelli Chocolate Baking Chips 60% Cacao Bittersweet Chocolate—-measurement is discretionary, depends how you like your cookies.
oven at 360 degrees
each batch on a sheet takes about 10 minutes, varies based on your oven. don’t walk away till you know your oven.
i recommend parchment paper or silpad. i also recommend an ice cream scooper or melon scooper with a release mechanism for the perfect size cookies.
if you like your cookies flatter and chewier add less flour.
there is pain in my eyes
sorrow in my heart
as i leave flowers
at my grave
as i hold my chest
hold life
and consider all values
greater then or less then zero
nothing moves
nothing breathes
just mistakes
my mistakes
my life
this that was
and i am constantly told
what to do
what to say
and how to say it
i am constantly told
who i am
what i am about
and if i am having a “good time”
the choices of living a life
led for me
and this has nothing to do with kids
or remedial math in the sixth grade
or how i chose art over money
or “what i did on my summer vacation”
for the next five thousand years of my life
this has nothing to do with sex
love
or plain closed (clothed) people
living plain closed lives
in a damp wet world
that doesn’t allow anyone to take in oxygen
unless the rate of expiration
is above and beyond
the level of income
that seems to suggest
we are all just–getting by
this is about being
about respect
about heart
about failure
about holding someones hand
in the rain
when people die
when love is needed
when understanding
is a simple question
not Einstein’s theory of relativity
not pi squared
not cause and effect
just meaning
just you
just me
doing something more
then yelling
then retreating
then giving up
going away
and dying
all day
everyday.
this morning
i sit with my coffee
my keyboard
and the quiet lull of eddie vedder
singing sadness
telling me nothing is guaranteed
and i understand this
i hear him
as i think about my losses
my friend
my life
so much sadness
for a such a short life
so much sadness
and as i put words on a screen
i think about friendship
and what it means to me
maybe i am not a good friend
maybe i am not who i said i was
maybe
maybe
“i know all the roads
but the roads do not know me
guaranteed”
and as the rain hits my windows
i realize
i am humbled
by so many things
especially
the empty chaos
of a life not led
but chosen
through false hope
and empty promises
i wish i could wake up
and take it all back
i am nothing
just the cup that holds me
like water
filling a glass
but only ever taking the shape
of whatever vessel it is in
like heaven opening it’s doors
and you leaving
because the perfection
is too much
for any one soul
to ever handle.
I.
he is awake at 7
sometimes 6
he stands
opens his arms
and cries
i pick him up
take him to my bed
and lay him down next to me
sometimes he sleeps
sometimes he giggles
and talks to himself
other times he kisses me gently
rubs my face
and tells me it’s time to get up
he likes routine
he likes cheerios
mini wheats
and oatmeal
he likes being outside
and taking naps
he loves water
and being wet
and if there’s a way for him to get dirty
or get into trouble
or push the limits of every warning
that turns into a time out
he will do it
he is benjamin
my son
my two year old
built for speed
for trouble
for playful mischief
and random acts of kindness
peppered with love
big hugs
and an occasional
wet sloppy kiss.
II.
i met you thru crying eyes
and soaked red cheeks
that screamed of sorrow
sitting on the floor with you in a hotel room in china
so much trauma
for someone so young
so precious
and in your hands
you held two complimentary mints
still sealed in their wrappers
given to you as a distraction
for the long car drive
the strange people
and elevator ride
that probably seemed so confusing
to someone who woke up this morning
looking for a normal routine
your clothes were tired
wore out
and your diaper needed changing
and as i sat on the floor with you
playing with blocks
you smiled
wiped your eyes
and started your long journey
into our family.
III.
you are home
you are ours
you are loved
our son
our heart
our little boy
forever now
forever with us
forever ever.
love is the argument
you don’t want to have
love is the condition
of breaking not bending
love is giving up everything
in ways you never thought possible
love is the empty tube of tooth paste
and the toilet paper that runs out
at the most inopportune times
love is the late night chocolate milkshake run
when your half asleep on the couch
and too tired to move to your own bed
love is forever changing
forever complicated
forever moving in the opposite direction
of where you want it to go.
