Radio Silence

I’ve tried to write this poem
before, I think. but the title just gets
the Thomas Dolby song of the same name
stuck in my head and then
I’m too distracted to
continue. perhaps this time
I will succeed. so, anyway. I’ve
noticed you’ve gone dark.

(I dreamt about you last night.
I was throwing away a box of
Entenmann’s chocolate donuts
and trying to hide it from you
because it wasn’t something you needed
to be tempted by.)

I don’t know what to say
about this, other than somehow
I always thought you would
always be there – even if we
no longer spoke as often – that
I could still read your mind
from afar. but no longer, as
you’ve stopped broadcasting.
maybe without a platform
in which to preen in person
the whole endeavor
of putting your thoughts down
doesn’t seem worth it. well,
I’m sorry for that.

here’s where I should
try to make some argument
for it being good for you
to continue, but we both know
altruism doesn’t become me.

(not to mention my hypocrisy
vis-a-vis my own highly infrequent
signaling. pot, meet kettle: we’re both
black.)

so I’ll just say this:
think of your stalkers,
and kindly throw down
a breadcrumb
now and again
to let us know
your signal isn’t
completely gone.

flawed

I’m sorry
that I’m such a passive-aggressive weirdo
who causes drama
and pretends to be
so haughty and aloof
when in fact I am a boiling mess
of seething feelings
that I try so hard
to cover up
and deny because
the last thing I want to admit
is that I still care
way too much
when it was never warranted.

there was never an us.
you’ve said it
time and time again.
I know. but it rankles
like a thorn in my paw
and I can’t bear to admit
that I wasn’t your type.

I’m sorry
that I made you think
that I no longer value you
as a friend and as an artist
when that was never
the case.

I just can’t bear
to be straight with people
when the situation makes me
feel lesser than, unwanted,
not good enough. I have way
too much pride.

you deserved better.
you were a good friend
to me when I needed it.
you tried to let me down easy,
but I insisted
on making it hard.

my whole life
I’ve had to learn
everything the hard way.
I guess
this is no exception.

last chance

twelve minutes left
to make something of myself.
this last poem
will redeem me, I just
know it. only nine for
the month, can’t I
go out on a high note?
welp, I never have
before. why start
now?

this year I
cried a lot, laughed
a lot, loved a lot,
did a fair amount
of drugs, and worried
even more. I made
some music that
I’m pretty proud of.

cue people screaming
in the background.
I spent the last ten minutes
writing my last poem
of the old year
only to find that
it has become
the first poem
of the new year.

there’s no lesson
here. whether you’re
celebrating or
denigrating, it all
comes down
to timing.