Pen in Motion

It’s just a bank account.

Just an email address.

It’s no big deal – my last holdout

of me versus “we.”

I like being an “us” and I don’t care

that I had to change my name.

I like the new threads.

But I liked the other ones too.

And I had a life before –

so much connected to the other name

and sometimes it’s not fair

that I have to let that go.

I’m not being sneaky and you know that.

But you want a united front,

so my stuff has to go.

I’m mostly okay with it,

except right now.

But I’ll probably get over it after I fall asleep.

I think that’s how you get over stuff,

right?

Hope it works that way for me too.

That’s a mack right there – 

solid 10, 

pure dynamite, 

dripping with charm – 

sure to make the ladies melt 

with just a side glance. 

I’d tip my hat 

to that smooth operator – 

he’s definitely got it going on. 

Sharp dresser, 

nice shades, 

words like satin sheets, 

and a legacy that puts us all to shame. 

And it should, you know – 

put the whole world to shame. 

They know what they did. 

But maybe he’s moved past that 

somehow. 

And now, he’ll be the talk 

of the town. 

Better watch yourself, friend.

The biggest problem with me 

is something so simple 

that it’s impossible to miss. 

Can’t not see it, 

you know? 

So glaring, so obvious – 

almost grotesque, 

but you can’t ignore it either. 

Terrible and unkempt – 

I didn’t want to look, 

not even glance a smidge, 

but I also couldn’t 

keep not acknowledging 

this hideous issue that I should have seen 

a mile away. 

It’s me. 

You know – me, myself, I. 

I figured it out a while ago, 

but I wanted to keep passing the buck 

because that’s a lot easier 

than trying to carry all that baggage. 

I can try my best 

to blame someone else, 

anyone else – 

till the cows come home. 

Or kingdom come. 

Or whatever keeps that mess

at bay. 

But when the words are done, 

and I am finally alone, 

I still see it. And I hate it. 

But what can I do? 

Keep running to the ends of the earth? 

Or at least until I run out of idioms and colloquialisms. 

But luckily, 

it’s not just me. 

I am enough – 

all of me, 

not just parts, 

not pieces that you can pick 

and choose 

and patch together – 

fashion into something 

socially acceptable so everyone 

will smile with approval. 

But nope – 

that’s not my bag. 

I don’t want to be acceptable anymore. 

I don’t want to check off 

someone’s list and get a seal of approval. 

I want to be me. 

Just me. 

No additives or fillers. 

Nothing artificial to make me look right 

for the pictures. 

Took a while, but I finally got it figured out – 

I’m totally unique and 

not made to be in the regular flow. 

Because I have my own, 

I am enough, 

and if you don’t like it, 

then you’re out of luck for anything else. 

I’m done moving myself 

around to fit into everyone – or someone else’s mold. 

Been there, 

did that enough that I don’t want 

any more t-shirts. 

I am enough. 

Nothing else to say. 

Peace out. 

I never believed in storybook 

romances,

and it’s a good thing

since that’s not 

what I ended up with.

I did try –

got myself all the right butterflies 

and found the perfect shade 

of glasses – 

for seeing the guy

in the absolute best light, 

no matter 

the warnings that kept blaring.

One, two, three strikes.

And then some foul balls that

looked good at first.

That’s all I know about baseball 

and dating,

summed up together.

Then I found it – 

right where I didn’t expect

Probably wouldn’t 

make the best Hallmark movie, 

but still my favorite.

I’m hooked, snores and all.

Someone else’s memories 

are in my head – 

has to be theirs, 

can’t be mine. 

It’s like I found this 

strange channel 

out there 

in the airways 

and I’m invading 

another brain. 

Right? 

That has to be it. 

There’s no way that was me.

Was I really that 

sad, 

stupid, 

shy, 

simple?  

Did I really make all those mistakes?

No way.

Can’t be me.

Has to be someone else,

and I feel really bad for that person.

“Father” – 

only one letter away 

from “farther.” 

Seems especially fitting now 

since that’s where 

you are – farther – 

away. 

From me, from here, from life. 

It’s not like we’ve ever 

been close, 

even when you were on Earth. 

Sometimes it was okay, 

and sometimes it bugged me to not 

be the one 

who had all the “dad” memories. 

But you were still Dad. 

My dad, by blood, 

and that had to mean something – right?

Plus you were the only one 

I ever had. 

I had some stuff that 

kept me close — 

crooked smile, early gray hair, long legs, 

weird sense of humor, 

and also 52. 

Now you’re farther away than ever, 

but at least you have 

someone to keep you company. 

Father. 

Farther. 

But not always. 

Let’s just pretend 

that nothing ever happened, 

since nothing 

has officially happened anyway. 

At least not on your end. 

It’s all me. 

I’m the one who noticed you 

and let myself think 

about the possibility of anything 

more than this 

pre-friend thing we have 

right now. 

Sure I want the friend part, 

but I also want more. 

Looking at you 

makes me think about that 

and I can’t help it. 

But right now, 

I’m ready to just say uncle 

and be done – 

because it’s also reminding me 

of those old scars 

that I can usually not think about 

too much. 

I have enough of those 

and right now, 

I’m just a little too scared 

of accumulating more. 

I don’t even know how to start, 

or where to start,

or even if starting is the 

thing to do. 

People always say to begin 

at the beginning, 

but I’m still trying to find that first

set or tracks.

I know it sounds like I’m rambling, 

but maybe that’s how we 

work this stuff out. 

Maybe we have to unravel our brain 

to locate all the knots. 

Maybe we need to just pick a direction 

and follow to the bloody end. 

Or rather, 

bloody beginning. 

Sometimes we have to go backwards  

before we can move forward. 

So, where was I?

I don’t even know how to start, 

or where to start,

or even if starting is the 

thing to do. 

People always say to begin 

at the beginning, 

but I’m still trying to find that first

set or tracks.

I know it sounds like I’m rambling, 

but maybe that’s how we 

work this stuff out. 

Maybe we have to unravel our brain 

to locate all the knots. 

Maybe we need to just pick a direction 

and follow to the bloody end. 

Or rather, 

bloody beginning. 

Sometimes we have to go backwards  

before we can move forward. 

So, where was I?