Posted in Poetry

Loose Pieces

I’m not into buying Legos. They remind me too much of something my therapist told me—how my life couldn’t stand on a shakey foundation. There’s so much more to building a home than sticking a dog and some kids in the basement and telling yourself you’ve achieved some goals.

Or maybe there isn’t.

Maybe you’re just supposed to suck it up and live with someone you’re not in love with because that’s comfortable. And just raise some half decent kids, feed the dog, grow a beard.

At least until you step on one of those loose pieces. Trying to find the bathroom at 2AM, you remember that when you start with something broken, you’re bound to always be picking something up.




Trying to find the right words.

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