Slope.

You smell of plastic

And concrete

And moisture.

My gut tingles and the blood rushes to my head.

I know I'm home.

Or the furthest from it.

And the pool is churning.

It literally never stops.

And it's intoxicating.

I could drink tonight.

I could get so fucked up that all of my racing thoughts would finally shut the hell up and make sense.

Or just get ounces of peace.

There are beautiful men.

I see places I've been.

I want to run into the night.

Like a runaway dog.

A dog on the run.

All because your windows, on

Your small streets.

Your fucking smell.

Always is.

When it's good,

It's so good.

The ride home may only be a few stops,

On the 3.

But the personal space I get to witness,

As people end their work days,

Just wanting a cooler space,

A cold drink,

A smile, waiting

On a friendly, familiar face.

Is small,

And quiet.

Like small children sitting on a bench,

After school.

It's a beautiful, soft place.

Before night falls and the night's obligations,

Take away all the softness.

Let me enjoy this ride home.

Only a few stops,

And a million miles to go.

I don't want to be all the things that I am.

Waiting,

All day in this room,

For something… anything,

To be different.

But I am always just here.

Quietly and small.

Smaller than color.

I don't think people would be sad if I was gone,

I'm sure they'd be sad at how I left,

But more relieved because how do you handle so much sadness?

What do you say to eyes filled with loneliness?

There are things to say.

But they are slogans,

Sentences that are followed by uncomfortable exits and other places to be.

With people who don't look so sad.

And feel so blank.

I see how you look at me,

It's why I can barely stand to look at myself…

But I keep staring, searching

Inside my #selfie,

Hoping that something will change.

There was a time I ran through meadows.

With my arms wide open,

Fingers caressing soft blades of summertime grass.

When the sunlight shone a bright reflection,

Onto the soft white sand of my soul.

Powder trails in a zen sand box.

Moveable,

My heart was so moveable.

Teachable,

Open,

And wanting for laughter

And eye contact and body warmth,

Togetherness.

There was a time I ran through the meadows.

Now I can't get out of this bed.

All I do is stare and scroll at the ones dancing.

Thinking, that used to be me…

Before,

Whatever happened,

Happened.