Most of the time
Back then
I was high;
It was senior year,
I was well on my way
To graduating into
Fulltime drug addiction.
Yes, he was trying to be a writer. And he was always trying to make something out of nothing whenever the group got together. Sometimes for the sake of a story. Sometimes for the sake of having something to say, something to contribute. He didn’t swim, he skipped the speedboat rides, he always showed up single, the odd man out, and his life was so different from everyone else’s. He taught kindergarten, of all things, and his days were filled with hugs and smiles and tears – and the never-ending need to invent and improvise in order to keep little hands busy. Since becoming a teacher, adult company had grown even more awkward for him.
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Shakespeare struggled up Gad's Hill. Settling his aching bones on the soft grass beneath an oak, he gazed down the road for Canterbury. Sweet Jesus, he was weary of this world.
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The two men sipped their tea ignoring the sound of broken hearts and souls all around them. And then once they had finished, they got on with their work.
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I am the dead girl whose locker you spat on somewhere between recess and lunch.
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I have come late
too late …
to the place where lights
shine in no one’s name
I realized that maybe my Daddy hadn’t wanted to be a Daddy, that maybe my Mama didn’t want to be a drunk little lady, that Kira maybe wasn’t who she wanted to be.
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