I have that missing piece,
the slice of nausious stomachs,
it vibrates between my head and heart with stunning clarity.
My mother says it's like addictions,
(I've had those too)
but this one has no weekly meetings.
My father was a playful man,
he balanced her practicality.
And now I'm thinking, maybe I'm not really missing anything at all,
but the myth we're fed of special women captivating narcisstic men,
trying to keep the faithful.
But my mother and I retreat from the game,
disbelieving the veil of competition.

Why do the poor bless me when I can't give no change?
And what's this toothless woman doing keeping a broken down car?
She hasn't got the parts to salvage.
You broke my heart, old man, shuffling an inch at a time,
feeling in your pockets for soggy green.
Money sweats like skin in this humidity and only the poor thank the lord
it don't disintegrate.
Old and poor.
You left me that message, saying it wouldn't be you.
And I can't place blame,
Because who wants to be stuck blessing those that don't help you?

It's so funny when you realize that the first time you came and the first time you left home are shaking hands. I've married elation with the flee of new beginnings and they get me off. I'm not sure which starts I've finished or which endings I've avoided all together, which people I've pissed off, who I've learned from. 2 years of playing adult has made me feel the part and I'm nervous about losing my sanity once I'm back to being coddled. Nervous to lose what I've worked so hard for. But I know I'll bring it all to the table, every lesson learned and I'm sure I'll have to re-learn a few of them too.