Stay Put, Please
Why the fuck does the hair
on my head feel a need to
reallocate itself instead to
my back and my chest,
my nose and my ass?
Seems pretty unnecessary.
But sometimes things change
when they were more than fine
the way they were.
Preparation Is Key
A lot can not happen
if you’re not yet ready.
Expired Warranty I’ve been left to my own…
Sometimes I think that I’m special.
That I’m unique.
It’s not out of the realm of possibility that deep down I think this all the time.(though I’m not sure I’m ready to admit as much, even to myself).
There’s a not-so-small chance that I’ve thought of myself in this way my entire life, give or take or even, likely, without fail.
Especially when things don’t go right — when I feel like I’ve been wronged or am going through some sort of failure big or small or extreme or, probably most often, borderline unremarkable.
I get to thinking that nobody…
One day you’re young and wild and the next you’re just trying to wrap up work in time to watch Jeopardy.
One day you’re young and wild and the next you’re like, really, really into air fryers.
One day you’re young and wild and the next you’re trying to figure out how TikTok works.
One day you’re young and wild and the next you’re having “early go-to-bed parties.”
One day you’re young and wild and the next you’re going to the chiropractor because you threw out your back while sneezing.
One day you’re young and wild and the next you’re…
We’re halfway through drinks, I don’t know how many (it’s been several), but I realize it’s going to be our last, at the bar anyway, because she touches my arm, kind of strokes it, says, “I don’t usually do this on first dates but do you want to go back to your place? Do you live very far? I’d say we go to mine but my roommate is there and he always seems to make things kinda weird.”
I say yes I do, that I’m walking distance, shocked and pleasantly surprised, without even stopping to think about what state my…
I am Jack’s fading memories of a wildly misspent youth.
I am Jack’s trip to McDonald’s only to find that the McFlurry machine is broken fucking again.
I am Jack’s late and dishonest timesheets.
I am Jack’s progress report from the abyss.
I am Jack’s ongoing series of abject romantic failures.
I am Jack’s acknowledged but untreated and occasionally crippling intimacy issues.
I am Jack’s tendency to immediately panic every single time someone tells him “no worries.”
I am Jack’s hesitance to clearly state that he is not feelin’ it.
I am Jack’s broken bottle that looks like a diamond…
We’re halfway through our second drink when she starts to tell me a story about the time she went on one of those websites where women look for Sugar Daddies and vice-versa — and that she found one in pretty short order who wanted to take her out to a nice dinner at a place in Manhattan that I only knew of from movies.
Even if it were within reason for someone in my tax bracket to go there, I probably wouldn’t have anyway. I’m more the kind of person who, while extremely pretentious, is also tacky and low class…
We had several margaritas and some captivating conversation at a place in your neighborhood and then I walked you home. Do you remember it like I do? Standing there at your doorstep after the second date, leaning in for another kiss, just one more, you know, for the road. I knew I could have stayed. But something held me back. Something good, for once. I wanted to wait — to try and do things right. Go way off brand. What I wanted then was to go on the long walk alone, straight through Prospect Park all the way to the…
During the pandemic, I decided to try something new and posted a poem to my Instagram pretty much every day. Here are a few of them.
I have love handles.
But I can’t handle love.
I Thought This Was Worth Sharing
I was going to take a break
from social media starting
today but I haven’t finished
drafting my social media post
to all my followers about how
I’m taking a break from social
media and I’m kind of tired so
I guess my social media break
will have to start tomorrow.
Forever Ago Thoughts I was gonna…
I check my mail for the first time in a month and two things catch my eye: First, something that looks like a bill I have to pay to some doctor for some health care visit where said doctor couldn’t come even close to telling me what is wrong with me and so instead pawned me off to a specialist.
Second is this fancy envelope with a dear friend’s name on the return address section, scrawled in artful calligraphy.
“Godfuckingdamnit” I breathe aloud into the mailroom I think is empty until I turn around and find that I’ve severely startled…