theshortfriend

When my hair begins to grey, I will rejoice.

My crow’s feet will race farther than my aging joints could ever take me.

They will run down my cheek and jaw to meet my laugh lines, 

This feels like the countdown to doomsday.

20

...Proposing all branches be put under presidential control...

19

When the sons come for me, do not say you are surprised,

For I have taken a vow of pain

Hand flat-placed, an oath, a promise

To fight with pen and soliloquy.

For what is anguish?

It was the night when the battle turned.

The speaker sat back

There was gas in their eyes and hatred,

Blackened like needles,

Though dirty still,

And twice as sharp,

When my father cries, he sticks his lip out like a kid, his jaw shaking, his eyes red.

He cries when a truth is told:

Someone’s leaving, the end is near, or a fault is exposed,

Guilty

Ugly.

I love the you that you are when you are alone, 

The you that you are when you’re at home, 

When you look with soft eyes at the cat, 

The you that you are when you step onto the doormat.