Feeling Good

The pit of yearning

Maybe, can never be filled.

Like literal hunger,

It only eases for a while.

What kind of fuel

Feeds our happiness best?

Friendship burns

As Love swallows whole.

Nothing is still,

Even feelings have dimension.

Fear and empathy

Are almost equally absurd.

Stress and agitation,

Like a spring set to pounce,

The default position

Of a trauma endured.

Years in a minute

As tremors to anxious thoughts,

Like clarity of perception

When proportion rears its head.

Afloat outside a stream

Where timelessness meets space

Precarious indeed,

The scope of happy and of sad.

 

Twenty-Four, – 01/27

Twenty-four years,

Violence, sadness, life and love.

Enough memory to replay another twenty-four.

Time wasted, time lasted, time spent sublime.

Twenty-four years, and what was it for?

Ten years ago I died my hair black,

I remade myself to become my ambition.

Twelve years ago I made it back home,

from foster care where the youths go as prisons.

Fifteen years since I lived in the west,

In the American desert where religion seduced us.

Eighteen years since we moved to that place,

Since the first time I ever laid eyes on the mountains.

Twenty years now since my mother and I,

Lived together alone inside an apartment.

Twenty-four years to the day in which she,

Brought me to life so this list could be started.

The average lifespan of a man from before,

Before they had learned to last any longer.

As young as I feel, I quite frankly feel old.

There’s times I feel drained, though I’ve never been stronger.

I think I’ll be fine and my life will improve.

As long as I’m asking myself what it’s for.

I’m old and I’m young and I’m anxious to see,

What happens should I live the next twenty-four.