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Here For Now


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stay here for now.

I know you don’t want to.

I’m not going to say

that it’s not that bad.

because it probably is.

I’m not going to say

that it will get better.

because maybe it has to get worse

before it can get better.


who really knows what ‘better’ means anyway?

is it a magical code word?

the fucking balm in gilead?

am I going to just run a hand through my hair one night and say

"thank god that’s over with."

and then dream Ricky Martin dreams?


what the hell is ‘better’?

if I don’t cut myself to see if my blood is still red

is that ‘better’?

if I can sleep through the night without a baseball bat under the bed

is that ‘better’?

if I let my used body relax its tight security measures

that came on too late in the game

and don’t want to shut off now that it’s over

will that be ‘better’?


maybe ‘better’ is just another word for alive.

hey, welcome to another day.

you’re still among us, so I guess he didn’t defeat you.

well I can’t leave yet, I’ve got shit to do

dishes, laundry, save the world.

that kind of stuff.


I looked in the mirror yesterday

and saw lil’ me inside the glass and tin.

I wanted to break her out of that prison

but she just shook her pigtailed head at me.

and I looked at her face,

so wounded and scared,

so fragile and delicate,

so strange and familiar,

so certain and confused,

and I wanted to cry

because we both know who imprisoned her

two jailers

one of them is writing this poem.


"what can I do?" I ask,

and she trembles and pleads

and the glass cracks a little.

"stay here for now," she says.

"I know you can’t promise forever."


so I am writing this poem

to let everybody know

that I’m here

right here




for now.

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