I’m not your friend
Until maybe tomorrow
My schedule is somewhat hazy
I could never pick the candy bar I wanted.
I’m not a disposable camera
I’m not an expendable employee
I’m not your favorite toy
Grown old and dusty and thrown to the corner
I will not be a soda can
Drained of its purpose and crushed into a pile
Of un-purposed matter
Although I know I’m deserving of it.
On windy days like this,
I would give my heart to be a buffeted tree,
To waver but retain that grip on the ground,
No more being dragged to unknown terrain
And dropped, disoriented, struggling to find my way
Back to the empty hole
Where I had just been standing.
I’ve said before
I feel as though I’ve lived ninety years
In twenty year’s time
Without the happy accomplished memory
That sometimes comes with age
Now I believe I’ve only lived an instant
Because past and future are both pictures
That continually flash and are burned
Because the only proof that they both exist
Is in my condescending scars
And the hope that sometimes fills me up.