I
Missing you like the ocean misses the sand rushing back in
crashing waves, missing you
Like no one misses clichés
Missing you, the empty space between my fingers
II
Another year’s last breaths and I still feel uncomfortable
during news anchor banter and when I’m asked to make a telephone call and I
still haven’t built up a résumé or
a time capsule or saved the world.
III
Another year’s last breaths and I became and am still
becoming, and pride’s a funny thing because too much and too little are devastating,
kind of like water, and I’m just trying to find the balance beam in between.
IV
They tell you you’re not good enough so they can sell you
something and you tell yourself the same because you've started to believe it but you are good enough, they should put that in fortune cookies on ice-cream
lids and between side walk cracks and everywhere else you’ll see it
VI
It isn’t the worst case scenario
VII
(This isn’t a poem) about missing you but I do. (This isn’t
a poem)
