An odd sort of Poetry

I Look Everywhere

I look for lost pieces of me everywhere-
In all the ugly things
And all the nameless people,
Pills with names I can’t pronounce.
Men too-
In places I can’t remember
And nights I can’t forget.

I never find them.
I think in searching I get distracted
And forget
What I needed to find in the first place.
I never find them.

Sometimes I think I see glimpses
In empty bottles
And rearview mirrors.
I can almost touch them in our tangled bones
And hear them in the beating hearts
Of all the strangers I know.

But still,
I never find them.

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An odd sort of Poetry

Midwestern Lightning

I am from the Midwest.
I was made there.
I grew up there.
I often say that I hate it,
Everything about it,
But that’s not true.

I love the storms:
The hot summer rain,
The chaos erupting in the sky.

My mother used to tell me that the thunder was the angels bowling
-I always liked bowling-
And the lightning
That midwestern lightning that
Illuminated all the skies there ever were,
And put the sun to shame
Even in the dead of night.

What beautiful violence that was.

An odd sort of Poetry

Because of Katie Grady

4.23.1

I see you in and out of my life
like all the people I know
and used to know
and may someday know again.
you’ve made me who I am:
over the years I have become
bits of you,
as much as you have become pieces of me.
– the bits of you in me are the parts of me that I love the most –
thank you for that.
I’ve missed you over these times,
but never too much
you are only a phone call
and a memory away
no matter how far we go and grow
I hope you remember
and always know
I’m still in your corner
today and all the rest
you’re still in my heart
you’ll always be my best.

An odd sort of Poetry · death is a good friend · vice and all her ailments

hell is real

they talked for hours on whether or not hell was real.
and I was quiet.
I was quiet because I knew that it was.

I’ve been there often.
seen the flames
through the blinding darkness
and felt my bones
turn to ice
as everything else melted away.

I’ve seen hell.
seen the emptiness of the painted halls
and the sterile smoke
in every breath.

I’ve heard hell.
heard the desperate cries
of lost souls
that I knew
and wondered whether or not
anyone could hear
mine.

they sit there
and continue to wonder if hell exists,
but they’re staring right at it,
straight into my damn eyes.
– I’ve been there and when I came home
little devils made a house in my mind.