Writing, Running, Being.

The finish line is a shifty Thing and what is life, but reckoning?
Ani DiFranco

Monday, January 19, 2015

Resolution Poem


Run more miles, paint more trees
Give more fucks, eat more peas
Laugh louder, walk taller
Smile bigger, grow smaller


And by the time I finish this poem
it's next year again and we are commending ourselves
for leaving the Christmas lights up all year long.
Now all we have to do is turn them on.

It's next year again
and my hair is longer
and my hands are farther away.
But my bootstraps are still wet
from puddle jumping.

It's next year again
And I've turned shy smiles into storms,
pretty faces into mountains
which I've run up and down searching
for signs that point somewhere other than back home
Only to obey the ones that say "keep running."
I've turned possibilities into oceans
in case I need a place to drown
or to send back my regrets in the bottles they came in.

It's next year again
and there have been too many yous with too many hands,
handing me hot irons and saying "don't touch."
I save my skin for the splinters I'll score from slamming too many doors
Another year's worth will open anyway.

It's next year again
And despite the miles and mountains
I've pounded with tired feet,
I am still here.
Attempting the awkward pose that promised peace.
Watching the sun set and rise in the same moment
where beginnings and endings swirl together.
Brain spins, pen spits, feet slip, heart shits.
I scold myself for contemplating immortality as though I have a choice.
So I slide into the vortex for a slow spin toward death.


I fend off failures with my feet
While eager hands clutch meager winnings.
I utter my resolve and thus entreat,
Life to fill its middle with beginnings.