Father’s Day

and I still don’t know how I feel.

I imagine I’m sad
but I feel more like
a lost little girl with no arms to turn to
Just empty space I fill with time
not knowing how to feel.

And I wish I could sleep but the sun came out too early
and the noise outside is loud
but not as loud as the thoughts in my head
telling me not to feel this way,
but with nothing to turn to,
I never felt as empty as the bottles before.

I wish I knew what full meant.
I keep filing the pages with words and I don’t know what they mean.
I’ve got no one to fill my cup but my memories –
these fragmented pieces of half-torn pictures
and words I didn’t make up.

How do you write a song when you don’t know which words are yours or theirs?
How do you write a song when you just don’t care?

No one to nourish me – I’m starving myself
for creation outside of my own four walls,
the tall ones you warned me I’d build
and never be able to knock down.

Well,
Never’s not a word I like to use anymore,
it’s one of those words no one ever uses unless they want to tell you, “No.”
And they never tell you,
Never’s just a word they use to make you forget.

It’s Father’s Day and I still don’t know how I feel.

I want to write a song
but the music inside me burns, acid in my throat.

Remember that time you left me?
You were the first in a long list of men to leave me behind
and give me something false to believe in.
My idol and my best worst friend.

You told me I was heading down this dark dirty road
in not so many of your own words
and I said let me,
let me,
let me,
don’t let me go.

And now I have to let you go because you’re gone
and this feeling of
gone
is exactly the feeling which, on father’s day,
I’m still not sure how to feel.

I want to hear the words you never wrote down.

I want to feel the last breath you never took.

And I want to always say, I love you,
never, I’m sorry.

Forget I’m sorry.
Just tell me you love me before you go to sleep
because I don’t know the next time we’re going to die
and some days,
I’m just not sure how to feel.

EJZ 06.19.2016

 

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Today I decided to fly away.

Someone once told me not to be brave,
to just run.

Well, she didn’t tell me –
she told Tom Hanks in that movie.
She also prayed God would make her a bird
so she could fly far away.
So I’m doing the next best thing.

The problem is
my baggage has baggage
and I get charged an overweight fee
after setting off every metal detector
and I have to explain,
“Sorry, that’s just the bullet lodged in my parietal lobe from that time when…
I’m not sure you’d understand…
He was a red-head.
Do you get it now?
I can show you my scars.
They’re all in the journals I’ve kept for the last six months.
Can you just let me on the plane?
I’ll pay the $25 if it means escaping this place
for a week
or a month
or a day
or however long it takes before I feel like running again.”

The thing is
you can’t escape your past,
it always follows you.
All you can do is turn around
and find another airport to tell your story
and maybe this time
someone will listen.

And maybe this time
it won’t just be to keep you on the ground beneath them.
It won’t just be to craft ammunition out of the trust you give
until you have to fly away from another port
and pay another fee
and reluctantly explain, another time,
“Sorry….I’ve got these bullets…”

No, maybe this time you’ll be heard
and they’ll let you fly away
but you’ll always fly back to that airport
because it’s the only one that helps you understand
what it means to fly back home.

EJZ 07.09.2015