Long Way Home

I’m building great stone walls to catch every happy little blue jay.
I want them to understand what I know,
That every day is like a game of catch between you and the wall.
It’s the only sport I’ve ever been good at.

I’m good at breaking things,
Like myself.
Putting that shit back together,
I haven’t quite grasped.
But I’m trying though.

I’m trying to learn to climb trees
For the sole purpose of taking in all this beauty
Instead of trying to see trees as the perfect place to hang free
From my neck.

There is a lot of hate inside this shell.
Mostly pointed inward,
But pointing out as well.
I don’t know whether I’d shoot myself,
Or send those assholes to Hell.

Probably neither.
It’s mostly bitter talk.
Ramblings of unresolved demons
That still come to this bar to drink.
There’s always a brawl going on in here,
But it’s the safest place to think.

And I think,
Maybe it is unwise to get too comfortable
To feel as though I’ve finally made it.
Clearly I still have a long way to go,
Before my heart and head can ever feel like home.

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About Z.

Poetic pipe and cigar enthusiast rifling through the haunted memories of a not so distant past while openly wrestling with faith and God. A rambling writer with the misguided notion that he has something to say. His only redeeming qualities are his wife and children.
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