Exit Sign or Starting Line

Time to pack it in,

Get on up and out of here.

Leaving with less than I arrived with,

But also more than I could have expected.

I’ve learned a whole bunch of nothing,

And pieces of a few things.

I don’t know where to go,

Or what to say;

I just know I’m leaving,

And my eyes are to remain straight ahead

not looking back for even a second.

My brain is faint,

Eyes are drooping & dropping;

Either I’m tired or too tired of being tired.

And so, is an exit sign  or a starting line?

I guess it’s a matter of perspective.

Either way, this is one line

I’m definitely looking to cross.

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,

Just Short on Change

“Goins! Goings! Gongs! Goings!”

Amidst these misunderstood yells,

An empty cup is identified as an empty shaker.

Whether my pockets are empty or full,

Much to the dismay of the person clearly shaken,

They won’t receive the change they actually need.

When your mind is on a journey,

That somehow your body missed the invitation to;

The changes worth considering or needed,

Don’t typically jingle.

As the shopkeeper laughs insultingly,

While giving a glare that is almost parental;

Change is desired from the situation.

But for once,

a jingling of a pocket would be hope ringing out.

As buildings fall like tears,

And prices grow almost as fast as children;

Transition is inevitable,

And yet your white knuckles grip something that need not remain.

It’s ironic how that which we put forth most effort to keep,

Is exactly what prevents us from reaching our true & highest potential.

Whether it be habits of abuse or excess,

Mental paths darker than winter at the North pole.

In our twisted & misguided plan to be true unto ourselves,

We valiantly lie & cheat in order to find comfort.

Would you,

Truly,

Like some change?

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Don’t ty

Together, We’re Alone

Singled out,

Among friends & yet pigeonholed.

It’s not that I mind or that it’s even difficult,

But the desire to be with someone isn’t easily stopped.

If anything,

I hate how much I desire to feel the loneliness I already know to be encompassing.

Feelings that aren’t shared are my speciality,

Life unrequited takes less effort than expected.

Every night of nothing has suddenly become a memorial to mundaneness.

Shaky hands & noodle like arms,

Legs that are trying to run & eyes that can look everywhere but straight ahead;

Words are something I’m officially not sure of how to use.

Rows of chairs are nice because distance is implied from the start,

But when a couch feels as long as football field;

Sometimes sitting seems like more torture than anything.

And I’ve realized after many meals alone,

These times have been chosen rather than fate;

For those we’ve lost in this mortal coil,

Are often the best of company for food or a drink.

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