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Just wait.


What are we doing?

Not sure quite what to think

You’ve got no answer

Not one you’re ready to give

Still deciding if it’s worth it?

Me too

We’re one in the same

That’s why you got me leaving women be.

All of them that ain’t you

Simply ain’t worth you

The more you let me in

The more I see through

Further deep

Down to the real you

Know we’ve just scratched the surface

And you’ve yet to see my worst

So if you’re not sold by my best

Got me worried

Got me stressed

Got me despite all the doubts

Still wanting to invest

We’re just yet scratching the surface

But I’d be damned to deny that

You don’t feel worth it

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Woke up to the realization that today was national coffee day.

You know how much I love altering my sober state of being and caffeine is the most legal and least detrimental way. Not to mention all the cute baristas that smile at you when you whip a notebook and ballpoint pen out. She thinks I’m writing something poignant. Something intellectual. In all honesty, most of these ink strokes she intently loses her gaze in are nothing but notes about my desiring to see what she looks like without that apron on and if she’d make me a coffee to go on the way out of her place in the morning.

Willing to bet she’s got a French press at home at the very least.

That way she can get me out of the door quickly.

Or she can fuck around and make me a Miel and leave time for orgasms while the stove-top is busy preparing my future exit.

Give me a kiss and coffee on my way out the door before you slam it.

That way I’ve got the energy to make it to one more shop before it closes.

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Marry me Minnesota!

Hyphens and name changing

Legally binding

Sign your name on the dotted line

Vow it all, now!

No pre-nup needed.

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Today I watched a spider spin his web. Or her web. No way to tell the gender. Are spiders as gender fluid as we are as humans? One may never know.

He (or she) allows the string to travel and build future paths for one of it’s legs to cling to. He starts small. Tight revolutions to begin. They get wider. They spread further. Then he comes back around and fills in all the gaps. What if humans did that? What if we helped our future selves by laying paths and ground work to give our upcoming movements the best chance to be made?

Sure. We can too be squashed by a bigger being. But just like the spider, our webs will remain well beyond our existence.

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Know it could be you.

You ain’t close to ready.

So what’s a girl to do?

Waste some days with you?

Maybe a month or two?

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Whenever there’s a gaggle of soccer Moms on the dance floor, it’s the same scene.

One is too drunk, laughing at herself and her friends while she kicks in the air the way her son Donny does at practice.

One is too into the music, feeling herself and on the hunt for young men old enough to be her son in law.

There’s the mom of the moms, watching her friends relive high school and ready to hold the hair back of any sick friends.

And then there’s the one that needs that mom help. She needs help from ALL of her friends. The child of the moms. Too drunk to stand.

She will be the one to vomit in her lap, on their ride home, in a dodge caravan back to suburbia.

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Ain’t asking for commitment.

Know I wouldn’t get it,

And you know I’m a realist.

No regrets with sharing secrets.

Tell each other, knowing we’ll keep them.

Kisses keep them sealed.

Legs wrapped around each other like there’s no chance

That we could leak them.

Treating one another like we’re independently dependent.

Far more than a friendship.

Accidentally blurting statements that

Threaten to end it.

But that word slipped and you know,

I might have meant it.

No use in pretending.

Trust ain’t meant for bending.

Told you honesty is important

And that it’s backed up by my penmanship.

Write you poems full of confessions.

Filling notebooks full of love-letters.

Full of you, the subject matter

All in all every time I move faster

You’d rather scatter backwards,

No need to explain,

And no need to communicate after

Just gather the pages

Keep writing for days and days

Scribble the way out of the maze

Dazed, beyond the lines?

All in all, it’s okay

Ultimately, we’ve got it all

We’ve got life,

Together or not

We remain.


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Sitting in this elementary school and it’s hard to not think of where you’re gonna send him someday.

Not to imagine what his teachers name will be.

If he’ll be excited to make new friends.

If you’ll ever get so many phone calls from the principals office that you two become best friends.

Being around these kids just makes me wonder, still, what will transpire from yours.

Will he grow to love throwing balls even more than his infant self did?

Or will he take to kicking them down a field like his Father loved to do?

His little limbs could never sit still, so it’s inevitable that he’s bound for something active.

In all reality, he was always moving to tones and melodies, so it would be a bigger shock if he doesn’t spend at the very least a couple years dancing.

He loved trucks, planes, cars, boats-any kind of transportation, and I doubt that will be changing.

He’ll turn 15 and demand drivers ED, maybe even in favor of some of his lesser preferred sports like his once-to-be Step-Mom did.

He’ll turn 16 and capture that freedom in the form of a drivers liscence.

So help that he learns to break the cycle of becoming a parent before leaving high school that his parents set into rotation.

His fascination with shiny wheels and turbo boosts always outweighed any apparent desire to parent on his behalf; except for the times he tried to help his Mother cook.

His first car is gonna be all-too-nice for a 16 year old, but he will skrimp and save for it and probably drive it all-too-wrecklessly as it is.

Believe that he will love that thing.

Hell, he’ll probably name it.

Keep it clean.

Tune it up.

Customize it to his liking.

He’ll love it like this once-almost Step-Mom will always love him.

However, this will be his.

A car (or possibly a truck) of his own.

Title printed and inked in his name to keep it formal and make it real.

Just a few short months and he’ll recieve tab renewal mail from the DMV.

Who even has a clue what your address will be then?

Street is sure to change.

More than positive the zip code will as well.

Highly likely that Minnesota won’t be housing either of you at that point.

By then, you’ll have made your escape back across the Northern US border West to your home state.

Back to the minne-Minneapolis that resides in Washington.

That’s always where you wanted to be.

Back out West, with your son and your degree.

We talked about it often, even if you never saw that future with me.

Still, I’ll love you both forever like it’s still in the cards.

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When I love, you get it all

Every ounce, every drop

Let the guard down.

Let the walls fall.

Full transparency,

That amount of trust is scary.

So I barely bare me.

Lust driven therapy,

Won’t lead to marrying.

Coming off as bold, cold and uncaring.

The way you been staring,

Does all the sharing.

You man makes me wary,

Should he be worried?

My intentions traditionally are nothing but dirty,

And you keep on flirting,

So I know it’s been working.

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How bad do you really want it?

Love, that is.

Could I sacrifice selfish tendencies and reclusive solitary habits?

Ironically those are the habits that lead me to look for love.

Scribbling pages about heartbreak, alone in bars.

That’s where I thrive.

Wishing, hoping, dreaming of love

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