I belong by the sea

  

Perhaps I belong by the sea.

Is that where I will feel most like me?

Writing poetry and prose by the cliffs,

Cherishing my Irish heritage gifts.

Wearing a warm rough wool sweater,

And drinking tea that’s so much better.

Breathing in the bites of windy air,

In my grandmother’s ancestral County Clare.

Perhaps I belong by the sea.

Is that where I will feel most like me?

Taking a refreshing dip in the clear blue,

Taking in the prehistoric mountain views.

Smelling lavender mixed in the clean air,

Living the island life without a care.

It feels so close that once was far,

In my grandfather’s ancestral Hvar.

Lunch with Myself

 I met myself 10 years younger for lunch today 

We both stepped out of little white cars 

She had on those urban outfitters bdg skinny jeans and I wore my mom jeans from target

We both had water with no ice, just like Grandpa

We notice each other’s eyebrows but choose not to comment.

“Do you still think about that boy?” 

“Sometimes.”

We split a cheeseburger.

She said she worries she’s not good enough. Not smart enough. Not together enough. I tell her about my successful career, my beautiful village, how I get to go on trips multiple times a year. I think I’m smarter and more together than most at this point.

We talk about Ushi. She says Ushi will be turning 5 this year. I say that she’ll be turning 15 this year. We agree she is just a baby.

She mentions visiting Grandma & Grandpa while she’s home from college. I tell her about how I have a gallery wall just like the one in their kitchen that consists of my own travel treasures and a few favorites from Grandma & Grandpa’s travels.

We hold each other’s hands across the table. “I’m okay. Everything is okay.”

She pulls out her iPhone 5 and I pull out my iPhone 15 to check the time. We really should be going.

at an art museum

 Deformed baby

Or maybe a comfy baby

It has a small head 

Cows, cows, and more cows

I think I feel nice with you 

And at ease

But I can’t process that right now

What is a loot?

It’s a loot 

Do you like to drive

No

One day I’ll have a white house

On like 50 acres

Maybe a moat

Maybe one cow

Maybe with you

Thanks for saying

I’m pretty enough to start a cult 

You’re cute

Or whatever 

I guess

I drive straight to Walmart after

Not in Youngstown

I look at cards a 2 year old

Cant read yet 

I crouch in the aisle

Overwhelmed 

Maybe overthinking 

Definitely over feeling 

I’m the same as I’ve always been

I have the same thoughts

As when I was younger 

And more naive

It feels good to feel like

I haven’t changed all that much

But maybe it shouldn’t 

But I like feeling like me

Feeling like me feels like being alive

And human

And a little wild

Like when I was in college

Before everything 

I like that youre gentle

And mindful

And intentional

You feel steady

But not in a dead way

Or an unmoving way

More like a healed way

And a nice way

A genuine way

I don’t feel stuck with you

It feels right 

Even when you text me

Red rose after red rose after red rose

And throw in a few more red roses

Thanks for doing art things 

With me 

Haunt him

Taste my venom

As I bathe in the blood of man

I gave him denim

And he threw me away as fast as he can

Taste my tears

As I’m covered in my own sweat

I gave up my youthful years 

And I realize my regret

Taste my threat

I know I’ll haunt him

As I try my best to forget 

The life I never really wanted

Server’s Hands

I hold you in my hand and

Place you in my heart

You’ve always stayed there

If only I had been smart

And less naive 

And fucking grateful

My heart has teeth 

My feet are shredded 

My brain needs a lobotomy 

Or is it better to be beheaded

Like Katherine Howard

You’re not alone, Poor Thing

Women can’t be empowered 

In 2024? Don’t be silly

Be quiet and a doormat

For your mother, really

You don’t matter

Keep the peace 

Serve her little men with platters

Better not complain 

Wipe their asses

You’re ridiculous for feeling pain

How awful it is to be a man

How awful to be held accountable

Where are we? Begin, began

I look down at my hands

Creased and worn and old

No one understands 

After all these years 

All I have are empty server’s hands