Thirteen

THIRTEEN dedicated to T Winehouse. Gone too soon. Written under the afternoon of a full moon lunar eclipse that likes to rush things in gulps, not sips. Do you see yourself at a crossroads? You don't know where to go or where to dump the load Waist deep in my own quicksand I need a helping hand We didn't get to say goodbye I didn't want to hold your hand I wanted you to know what it means to be held That was my favorite song when I turned thirteen You were still in elementary school while I was trying to get away with breaking all the subtle rules We were so cool I think about you now and it sinks it that I don't get to speak with you again in this life. We don't get to talk the talk or walk the walk Even if my voice shakes, I will speak for the words you left unspoken and I will help mend the hearts you left broken This is my gift, my offering, my sacrifice, my token Evoke the yoke that is greater than I so the folks who are from here can hear it loud and clear. I can see you grinning from ear to ear. Every once in a while, my phone's memories take me back to the pictures you randomly sent me in the wee hours of my morning I would see slightly when I got up to gradually pee and then mumble something original in the depths of my unauthorized, pre owned sleep patterns that form their own habits. I miss seeing your random nature of things. You died for St Valentine. 6 days shy of a man who tried to hide his formal reply to rely on luck the wasnt on his side today or yesterday, let alone tomorrow. Will you tell me why? I'm burning that candle I got. Its working better than the others ever did. I just need a good job I like and can do to support the nature of such things. So I just had a cosmic idea to crush in the rush hour of each award that lives and dies by the sword. I will write a letter in poetic form to each person who means something to me after I have published Passenger Seat. I have plans. Stick around so you don't sideline the wrong wing man. You have the right idea. Execute it when you can. There are no ifs here. It's closed so it can try on some proposterous comments on its choice of cashmere, yet we are supposed to be of good cheer, year after year? I think not and the masochist conveniently forgot the conversation. It was too amusing to be an architect of an argument presumed to abusing the clientele and I could go on but I must stick to what's invertely important yet impossible because you are gone. Your spirit is so strong that it feels like you're here. Jordana Moon agrees with me and we shall channel you soon. I have my days but I know you're with me. You longed to be free so you could be more beautiful than the world would allow. You're guiding me towards my son and teaching me there always a way forward. This was meant to be a song but it's a tribute to you, Thomas Who Winehouse. You helped lead me to my sister & my spouse. You were too quiet for even a mouse. Too human for even an alien. But we would just wonder then. Thank you for being my spirit guide. I need a buddy forever on my side. Hopefully I'll know it's you in the next life. It's 12:12 as I write this. I truly hope you found your devout wife to seal your swapped hopes and dreams with a quiet kiss. I will watch and warn the others not to scorn your grave. It's not about how or why you died. It's about confronting the feelings that ordered you to cry and untagging them from the newsfeed that has become our tangled thoughts we used to keep to ourselves before our egos plead for more attention. I blocked a very popular published poet for being too self absorbed in her boring videos. She's good but not great. I don't meant to throw shade or spread hate but I literally publish my content for free everywhere to raise the collective vibration, not to sell books. Talent is worth more than looks. It wasn't a transferrable expensive or extra experience if it didn't leave you shook with a desire to understand it's deepest meaning. This is my version of spring cleaning. Biting is teething. Fury is already seething. I've let it go. If its meant to travel back to me, it will in whatever way that chooses to happen. It's all in the morning caption with a precise cup of coffee that offers the action first with an inventory of unpenalized thirst. I saw you at your best and your worst. That's what true friends do. Too bad I didn't know you way back then. I wanted an older and a younger brother. Neither one of them would annoy me or steal my toys. They would be on standby to reason with all the research that wonder why and trick the prick to pry with allegiant reservations. I miss you, T. I always have, I always will. I felt your exit when I met you but it waited on my evolution to proceed. It didn't care what I want and need. It wanted to keep you from the needle before you gave in to your teary grave. The plan was to save your soul and it worked at the expense of outright feelings that have no idea that they're on their way to immense healing. Your fears won't be stealing your peace anymore. Just show me where to start and I pace myself at the front door for the performance of a lifetime that took a year to climb. ©️SG Herring 5/21/22