Taylor Road

I remember walking down Taylor Road
We saw photos laying on the streets
Each, turned over
We couldn't see what was on the other side
They were old memories
Forgotten ones
They made new memories for us

Now I'm afraid
That someone else will go walking down
Taylor Road
And find our photos
Our old forgotten photos
That will make a new picture
For a lonely stranger

White

I was feeling okay, until I looked out the window and realized how lonely I get to be.

Comfort

Cartoons that I use to wake up at 7am to watch.
Sitting in my shower.
Standing in my shower.
Rice Crispies and milk.
Shade on a hot summer afternoon.
Sunburns.
Feel-good movies.
The little boy who came up to Whiteside and asked to play his guitar.
Camping in my backyard.
Discovery.
Water.
Talking to a former teacher about things that matter.
Neighbors.
Retta.
Sleep.
Eva.
Tomorrow, and the next day.

Growth

I remember one night last summer
My sister asked me to do the dishes
So I did
Because she was better
So why make her feel worse?

It’s chunky white substance just poured out
Like water running out from a tap
There was too much, and I was ignorant
I closed it up, forgetting about it
And then white foam rose up
I panicked
Screamed
And then laughed
This was funny
Humor you find only on the silver screen

I told my sister
Hoping she’d find this as funny as I did
She didn’t
She was furious
But then calmed herself down
“Well, I’m sure you’ve learned from this.”

I'M IN LOVE WITH A MAN I HAVE NEVER MET.

M.O

He doesn’t even know my name
And talks to me for minutes
His words are passionate, and he barely tries to sound loving
But he does a damn good job
I’m flush because I’m impressed
And I feel embarrassed
For sounding like an idiot

Reaches into these wooden gates
Holding sacred, tones of beauty
Pulls out a stack of silver
Scrounges through them, until he finds
The last disc in the pile

“Listen, spin it a few times. See if you like it.”


It’s different, but familiar
I feel different, but familiar
These notes bring out summer
And fall.
And I fall, and let myself wander for moments

I’m back and gone.
I’m grateful and gracious.
I’m appreciative and loving.
But this is me trying to do a damn good job.

"Course Selection"

A teacher walks in with papers in his hand.

What’s real noticeable is the black font, contrasting this white sheet of paper.

This white sheet of paper is supposed to organize and outline my courses.

The courses I take will shape my future.

So, is this white sheet of paper enough?

Is it going to help satisfy my ambitions for the rest of my life?

No, it’s not.

I’m expected to have this filled out within one week.

7 days, 168 hours.

How the fuck am I supposed to know what I want to be, what I want to do with my life in one week?

15, and I stand at 5’3.

How am I supposed to know what I want my life centered around?

So this paper,

This white paper, filled with black ideas of what each individual might want to become,

It’s staring at me, and telling me, “It’s your life, you choose.”

This isn’t helping me at all.

God, and the font…

The dreaded “Times New Roman”

It’s completely stoic.

Not offering me any condolence, any comfort

I’m left sitting here, thinking so hard about what I want to do

You’re not helping me

You’re mocking me

At the top, sitting high and mighty, are the course selection boxes

8 slots.

8 opportunities for me to become successful.

And then there are two boxes that sit underneath.

As if they were jokers at a court.

Beside them reads, “Choose two Alternates carefully.”

Carefully.

In parenthesis it says, “Alternate choices are very important.”

Important?

They’re my alternate choices.

This

Is

Screaming:

“You have a possibility of never succeeding, so pick two okay choices that you’ll be guaranteed a spot in.

Excuse me?

We get an education to become successful.

That’s why I’m here.

What are you telling me now?

This stupid black type tells me to pick two, two, not one.

Two.

Because I’m not the only competing for success.

So there will be a few who actually make something of themselves, and then they’ll be me and the majority of the population.

Making a decent life, but nothing exciting.

Or glamorous.

Or ideal.

Or anything that will make me happy.

But I’ll make a decent living, and that’s what I’m forced to settle for.

What’s real noticeable is this black font, contrasting the white sheet of paper it blankets.

And it’s telling me:

“Hey, it’s your life. You choose. You decide. You probably won’t ever win at this life, but you’ll survive, and you’ll never understand what success is.”