2 am

In the house where I grew up
There was a large, black grand piano
And when I was just three years old
I used to pile up old phonebooks to stand on
Just so that I could sit on the bench and reach for the keys
but once I could reach the keys
my feet couldn't reach the ground
and I would sit on the big black piano bench
In front of the big black grand piano
crying until someone- usually my mother
Would come and play for me

And I would close my eyes
And I'd smile
And I'd imagine myself dancing

It's midnight and the clock is chiming
A big grandfather clock, just outside my bedroom door
It's been there for as long as I can remember (and maybe then some?)
It's older than my mother's mother
Small taps sound on my window, and I race to the latch
I remove the screen and Tim slides inside
And we're kissing our hellos and groping around the room
And we're turning out the lights as we sigh
He pulls me to the bed and I can't think for all my worries
And I try to imagine heaven, but I can't
Because nothing could be better than a rainy October midnight
On which I've got the man I love in my bed

And I close my eyes
And I smile
And I imagine myself dancing

It's dark outside, the clock strikes two, and Tim nudges me awake
We stumble out my bedroom door and find the room with the grand piano
We shut the door behind us- it's soundproof (trust our luck)
And he sits down on the bench and places his fingers on the keys
I sit there wordless for god knows how long
I can't think or move a muscle
But I listen to every note he plays,
Memorizing the melody and making it a part of myself
And we sit there together- the man I love and I
Together in the house where I grew up
The house with the big black grand piano
And the constant Grandfather clock (which is just now striking three)

And I close my eyes
And I smile
And I'm imagining myself dancing

I grew up in a world
Built on things I could depend on
And then I met someone
Who knocks on my window at midnight
and plays the piano at two am in the morning
The reality of life is that we have to stop imagining that we're dancing
And just dance.
Tim and I did
Outside
In the rain
On that cold October morning
And I never for one minute regret that we did.

A letter long forgotten

I found a letter in my desk the other day
I'd written it to a friend of mine (I'd meant to send it her way)
but I didn't
so I've still got it
In my desk.

I wrote you a letter long forgotten
It wasn't long forgotten at the time
but why I felt the way I did, I've now forgotten
and I still have the letter after all these years gone by.

I'm sending you this letter long forgotten
About all the things I used to feel
I'm adding on all the things I feel now (things I had forgotten)
By stopping myself from feeling and trying not to be me.

I figured you should probably see this letter long forgotten
 So that you'd know how I miss you, my old friend
I figured there might be some things that we had both forgotten
About promises we'd made and the letters we thought we'd send

I moved away, and that was no one's fault at all
But I'm the one who chose to forget
not you
never you
so I'll put this in the mail
and I'll tell you how I feel
how I miss you
I'll tell it all
In this letter long forgotten.

Sometimes I feel like a horrible person

I said this to a friend yesterday and she asked if I was going to go
"all emo-existentialist" on her
not at all. not at all.
but you'd feel like a horrible person too,
wouldn't you,
if you were going to break some poor boy's heart
like a fancy china bowl,
smashing it
and dashing all his dreams.
you'd feel horrible too
if you were wearing my shoes
knowing you were going to hurt someone
wanting not to,
but understanding the inevitability of the situation
you'd feel horrible
if you were me
knowing that he really like liked you
when you only kind of like liked him
and knowing that when he worked up the courage to ask you out
it would be in vain (you'd reject him, of course)
because as much as you kind of like liked him
and as much as you'd been leading him around
like a dog on a very short leash,
a donkey with a carrot
leading him on, because you couldn't can't help it
you don't like like him nearly as much as you wish you could.
You'd feel like a horrible person,
if you were me.
but you're not
so be glad of it
be glad that you're free
of this ridiculous burden I've placed upon myself.

Killing the moment

This is the day for slaying my fears
for killing the moment
and emerging from the rubble that is my life, like one of Shakespeare's tragic heroes
This is the day.

This is the day for correcting mistakes
And forgetting the ones I can't fix
moving on and living as if nothing can touch me
This, this is the day.

I worry too much about hurting other people
and all I wind up doing is hurting myself instead
I'm afraid to stab a friend in the back.
So I shoot myself in the foot.
I talk about living life with my heart on my sleave
but I don't.
Some days I wonder if I even have a heart.

I need to move on, to get out of this one hat town
But I'm too busy thinking about the people I'll leave behind.
I'm scared to kill the moment, even though it's mine to kill
I'm scared to walk away, even though lingering is risky

but I don't want to walk with my eyes fixed on the ground
Or to run, constantly glancing over my shoulder
I think it's high time that I stopped hiding behind my cliches
and just lived.

I feel like I've lost

My inspiration the way that you lose a -a what?-
I don't know. I've lost my inspiration
But it's selective
I've lost my poetic drive over the past while
but I've written three songs in the last week
and I've dreamed up a few really amazing pieces of artwork.
and I've done all kind of creative, inspired things
I just haven't written any good poetry.
But it's coming, I know it.
Something more creative than anything yet
a truly inspired poem is on its way
Just as soon as I find the inspiration to write it.