Route 95 North through
Downtown Providence.
I start thinking maybe
the 6/10 Connector
wouldn’t be so bad.
But now I’ve been
in traffic for an hour.
My ADHD starts ticking.
What was I thinking when
I crossed that bridge?
I should have just stayed home.
Route 95 North through
Downtown Providence.
I start thinking maybe
the 6/10 Connector
wouldn’t be so bad.
But now I’ve been
in traffic for an hour.
My ADHD starts ticking.
What was I thinking when
I crossed that bridge?
I should have just stayed home.
lost track of the person I was
to become the person I am.
I’m not special, perfect,
or completely innocent.
I’m just me.
I may be relatable.
I may be obnoxious.
You don’t have to like me.
I won’t change for you.
I won’t change for anyone.
I was never good
at playing pretend,
so take it
or leave it.
I’m okay
with the person
I’m becoming.
Blood stains clothes.
Ink bleeds through paper.
A corpse will vanish,
the page remains.
Blood stains clothes.
Ink bleeds through paper.
A corpse will vanish,
the page remains.
I’m captivated by what I used to fear.
I just wanted you here…
I don’t think you were ever here.
I’m captivated by what I used to fear.
I just wanted you here…
I don’t think you were ever here.
Many celebrate independence
in the sun with their families.
Some celebrate in-dependence
in the dark with what
keeps them confined.
Many end their Independence Day
with a full belly and
the sound of fireworks.
Some end their In-dependence Day
with the sound of a car crash followed by sirens.
Many will make it home.
Some will never see home again.
Stay safe out there.
Many celebrate independence
in the sun with their families.
Some celebrate in-dependence
in the dark with what
keeps them confined.
Many end their Independence Day
with a full belly and
the sound of fireworks.
Some end their In-dependence Day
with the sound of a car crash followed by sirens.
Many will make it home.
Some will never see home again.
Stay safe out there.
Poetry is an interpretive art.
It is not always a direct reflection
of the artist’s well-being.
If you know the poet,
checking in on them through
the poem’s thread undermines the art
by turning it into something personal.
Poetry is a generational marker
of living life in a specific time.
It is not a note looking for sympathy.
If the poet is serious,
they are trying to build an audience
through a body of work.
Appropriate engagement
is necessary for the piece to move.
Inappropriate engagement
makes the piece harder to relate to.
Then it dies.
Engage with the work
in ways that keep it alive.
If you know the artist
and are worried about something they wrote,
reach out privately.
Distant voices heard
Immediate vices reached
Drowned by choices
Naturally irrelevant
The silent judgement
A measured action
A meaningless fever
With twisting truths
The relapsing reminder
Falling asleep in an open tomb
Blank spaces repeat.
Nothing to write.
Nothing to see.
The tape is stuck on repeat.
The rewinder is jammed.
Nothing to change.
Nothing to be.
Blank spaces repeat.
Blank spaces repeat.
Nothing coming out.
None coming in.
The rewinder is jammed.
Nothing to write.
Blank spaces repeat.
Nothing to change.
Blank spaces repeat.
Nothing to see.
Nothing to make.
Repeat.
Change nothing.
Be nothing.
Change.
Repeat spaces.
Tape stuck.
Spaces to write.
Repeat spaces.
Write.
Repeat.
Write.
I want you to know this
when you’re feeling hopeless:
You don’t seem so broken to me.
I wish that I could tell you
all the words that might help you
become the person you want to be.
But I’m lost at sea.
I’m stranded in the Atlantic,
it’s getting harder not to panic.
I know my words cannot set you free.
I don’t think I can save you,
I hope you know that I’d love to.
I fear it may be too late for me.
I want you to know this
when you’re feeling hopeless:
You don’t seem so broken to me.
I wish that I could tell you
all the words that might help you
become the person you want to be.
But I’m lost at sea.
I’m stranded in the Atlantic,
it’s getting harder not to panic.
I know my words cannot set you free.
I don’t think I can save you,
I hope you know that I’d love to.
I fear it may be too late for me.
life is too hard
and too short.
Please love yourself
before it’s too late.
If you don’t love yourself
the way you deserve,
no one else will.
life is too hard
and too short.
Please love yourself
before it’s too late.
If you don’t love yourself
the way you deserve,
no one else will.
I think I’ve said too much of not enough.
You’ve had enough of my bullshit.
When will this shit ever end?
Would it be better if I said
nothing at all?
I don’t know why you
even bothered to call.
Maybe I should go get fucked.
Maybe I should just walk away,
before you get sucked
into my head once again.
I guess…
you were never my friend.
every mistake in the choices I make.
How can you save me now
when I skipped town
and you’re not around?
I won’t complain,
I can’t make a sound.
I’ve learned to live
with all this pain I found.
I don’t know
how much more I can take.
How long will I have to wait
for things to get easier,
for me to escape this state?
I guess this must be fate.
I’ll just suffer in silence
in this bed I made.
every mistake in the choices I make.
How can you save me now
when I skipped town
and you’re not around?
I won’t complain,
I can’t make a sound.
I’ve learned to live
with all this pain I found.
I don’t know
how much more I can take.
How long will I have to wait
for things to get easier,
for me to escape this state?
I guess this must be fate.
I’ll just suffer in silence
in this bed I made.
the things I did to protect you?
How I sold
all the best parts of myself?
I lied…
I lied so much to cover
things up for you.
To be honest,
my values must have
been on clearance.
They were worth
more than that.
I am worth
more than that.