A Poem About Cheese

Where Are You?

Please don’t leave me here with these people. I'm not of them. I won't love them. Take me with you when you go. I don’t recognize them. We don't speak the same language. They’re humid. They're dank.  They’re hollow. Don’t make me love them. I don’t want to. I just want you. I’ll be quiet on the road. I’ll love them if I have to but I’d never tell you I’d be too embarrassed to let you know. But tell me who will you love? Where will you go? Will it ever be as good? What will you do when they don't recognize you or they don't love you like they should? I’m right behind you. I’ll come and find you. Don’t be stubborn out there on your own. They love me here but it feels so empty. Don’t leave me here with them alone.

You’ll Know This Is About You

I have been a different person with different people. I sometimes become who they want me to be, or I’ll retreat when I feel like they expect too much.  I’m the strong, silent type who talks a lot, and falls in love too quick, and breaks hearts too often, and is always there when I’m needed, and never answers the phone when it rings, and has a heart of gold, and a heart of coal, and is too selfish to ever consider anyone else, and will give away the very last of his things… 

at least thats whats they say, and they would all be telling the truth. 

I’m looking forward to discovering who I‘m going to become with you,

who will you turn me into?

The Forest x The City I ran into the forest because I thought I heard my name, but it may have just been the voices in my head, both them and you all sound the same. They said you never realize you’re lost until you try to go back the way you came, but there is no turning back now, I’ll build my fire here when it gets dark, come find me if you see the flames. I’ll stay here through the night until there is a little light to find my way, but when you see the smoke, the fire’s died, I’ve broken camp and it’s too late. I can navigate by the moon, wandering around until I’m found, but if your trees obstruct it’s view I’ll burn this forest to the ground. And build a city where you stood with buildings that reach higher than your trees ever could, and neon lights, we won’t need fire. And I’ll light you up at night, to where you’ll never see the stars, but you’ll look beautiful from a distance tourist will come by plane, train or barge just to get a picture of you. Or I could build you like they used to, with castles and with walls and erect statues of myself in the center of it all. Until the hurricane comes and earthquake shakes and the city crumbles to the ground and a forest grows in its place.

An American Love Story In 4 Words:

It didn’t work out.

I want what I want as quickly as possible to make sure it's something I still want once I get it. If not, gives me enough time to want something else.

🌹

Where Are You? Please Don't Leave Me Here With These People: a love story

Lovers, Family, Friends + Strangers

We say goodbye, but no one ever leaves us.  They die on the outside, but still live within. Once we love them we become them, and all the people we’ve been with  become all the people we’ve been, and all the people we’ve been  become all the people we are. I know it’s hard to forget about them without losing a part of ourselves with it all. Can I love you and love all the other people you’ve loved? I wouldn’t know where to begin, but I’ve survived hurricanes much worse I’m sure I could weather again. It’s difficult to let go of old people we were when they’re the reasons why we are the crowd we’ve become, but I’ll try to calm the mob in you while adding to your parade, still careful to not let everyone you are  come undone.

Where Do You Think Our Souls Go When We Die?

Her: “What are your dreams? What city are you currently in love with? What is your favorite cheese? What are you afraid of? Who do want to be when you’re old? Where do you think our souls go when we die?”

Me: “To look back on my life and smile. Montreal. Brie. Losing my ability to see, hear or taste by way of some freak accident or old age. Dr. Nikolaus Richard the first. I don’t think I believe in death”

Her: “…but your soul, where do you think it goes?”

Me: “I don’t think our souls go anywhere when we die. I think as we live we leave a little piece of it in people along the way. Every time we love we lose a part of ourselves. Or every time we create. Or procreate. If we are lucky, by the time we die we wont have any soul left to go anywhere and our lives will be complete and our bodies empty. We will have given it all away.” 

Her: “So you don’t believe in Heaven?”

Me: “Sure I do. We’re here right now. You must have missed the sign when we walked in.”

I asked her who she voted for in 2004, we were discussing politics and religion and that was the first election I was old enough to participate in. I said, Gore, she said that was the year she stopped believing in anything, but she still went to church just in case. She still voted in every election after that just to be safe because she didn’t want to be blamed when things went wrong, and things always went wrong. And knowing she wasn’t the reason why helped her sleep at night. I asked her how she’s been sleeping lately.

She asked, why do you put so much pressure on me to dream when I’m still stuck between feeling lost and feeling free? Forced to get along with those who arm themselves and dream of harming me. Sold me a house with a lawn and picket fence, but made copies of the key so you can come and go as I sleep at night and my dreams can be policed.

I told her I had been struggling with these dreams of my own, on the verge of packing up and selling everything I owned, but it was still too comfortable to pretend.

She told me I sounded like a politician campaigning for an election I knew I would never win, and American woke up a while ago and wasnt letting anymore new dreams in.

But I was just trying to get her attention…