sometimes I forget
I forget to prepare people for what it is...like
it might be a crime from the beginning, me, so calm and sitting there and okay with most things and anxious to make it easy and so reluctant towards the slightest outburst
and there it all is in the written form. my past, persent, future, swirling in a big bubbly mess, no context, no warning, just there, what came out when I sat down smiling, thinking of puppy dogs and what time the bus comes and then bam! the worst of 1995 spilling forth with little explanation or cause.
it's a purge. these things, they sit there, these parts of me that visit when I lie down and when I rise, when I crunch numbers, when I laugh hysterically. inside, there is no past, there is no future, just continually altered context
and sometimes, these words, they are a warning themselves, a harbinger or doom, whispers and screams of foreshadowing. sometimes, they are just a moment, a memory, a hope or bellief that needed to be set free to move on