It won’t ever mean as much to you,
as it does to me.
as it does to me,
slamming fist first into the wall of a shower stall,
first floor men’s side MacLean dormitory,
water
dripping
down my nose, lips, red fists I’m too cowardly to bleed.
toes curling into the grout of the tiles.
{([shaking])}
but it doesn’t matter,
I’m fine
I’m fine
I’m fine
I’m fine
I’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfine
so you’re dream-dead-and-dying in your full-sized bed,
with the man of your dreams who,
for once,
ain’t splitting at the seams.
it doesn’t make sense ‘n it isn’t fair ‘n it isn’t worth the effort.
back to bed, act out the dead,
it ain’t, ain’t never been,
‘n discord, grating, grumbling, teeth-gnashing notes that shouldn’t, shouldn’t be.
that shouldn’t be,
it shouldn’t be like this.
cover-forts Super-Man would envy, four p.m. rooster crows
leaving the bathroom with a cheek waffled in the same design as the floor-tiles,
hour and half long showers staring at dirt caught in the sealant,
salt ‘n tears ‘n snot ‘n echoing hollow,
hearing things in slow motion,
dragging your mind from the tar pits just to react to someone saying your name.
minutes
hours
months
just to react to someone saying your name.
It won’t ever mean as much to you,
as it does to me.
Yosemite is granite and trees and canyons and mountains and this view unlike anything off into the distant mountains the earth draped over the landscape, ill fitting, bursting.
you, comparatively, are small.
your erosion is confined to a few flecks of skin grinding away, some oils left behind,
only effective because of the ant-swarm-flock compounding of you and them and you.
Yosemite is vastness in a vista,
Yosemite is the snark of the universe, passive-aggressively reminding you
“I am small, you are smaller still”.
the microcosm is the snark of the universe reminding you,
“look how big you are, you’re terrible at even being small, you”
Get up kid, it ain’t time for you yet,
in the equation of change, the only multiplier is time,
‘n you’re long behind on your decimals
you got years left in you,
you got years ‘n years ‘n years yet.
ain’t no time for this fuckin’ bullshit,
get up, get back, get goin’, get doin’–
you ain’t perfect, you ain’t ever gonna be,
ain’t, ain’t, ain’t ever gonna be,
but that ain’t to reason to stop tryin’
don’t let ’em give you shit for tryin’
don’t give up on yourself for tryin’
don’t, don’t, don’t stop trying’.
It won’t ever mean as much to you,
as it does me,
you, on the phone,
sertraline slurrin’ my words ‘n makin’ me forget I’ve told the same joke three times now,
complained ’bout the same thing four,
talked ’bout the same subject five,
took time out of your day,
to talk to someone so, so, far gone it took mountains to find ’em,
It won’t ever mean as much to you,
