I’m feeling all sorts of clumsy with the parts of my mind.

I must admit,

I kinda like all the colors bleeding together,

I just can’t make out a picture yet.

This has never been easy for me,

but, you see,

I’ve been taught to interrogate my heart.

My Dad said my emotions run deep so I have to be careful not to drown.

I’ve got to dive to the bottom to see how far it goes and

leap from the surface to check if that reflection is smiling.

If you need to know anything about me,

I almost never jump before I analyze every fucking possible outcome of this chess game.

But I’m not trying to win,

just seeking a draw and…


Another thing you should know, I hide in metaphors.

It lets me force you to speak my words. That way if you spit them out, I can deny it all.



Bottomline: I really like you.


And I feel reckless, my heart running ahead like one of those kids at amusement parks with the leashes. My brain holding fast, spouting rationale, or maybe layers of bubble-wrap and those little mittens with the string so you don’t lose them.

It’s calling in condescension, “Careful, now! Don’t want to make the same mistakes as last time!”

I didn’t want it to come out like this, but you should know.

I compose rambling anxious rants and I combat with depressive relapses and lost romances and I get to remembering all the shit I did to Her and blame myself for all the shit She did to me and I cringe at all the shit I never saw coming until it blind-sided my whole life…

She left me cracked wide-open and the pieces got put back together with some of Her stuck between.

Now I’m not sure how to begin or if to even start because, clearly, I had no fucking clue what I was doing then and why should now be any different?


So…here I am.

A messy, fucked-in-the-head guy who runs all the time and confuses pencils for syringes.

I have no idea what I’m doing, and, hopefully, neither do you.


Photo by Alex Suprun on Unsplash

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