It's Ours

IT'S OURS

there is always that space there

just before they get to us

that space

that fine relaxer

the breather

while say

flopping on a bed

thinking of nothing

or say

pouring a glass of water from the

spigot

while entranced by

nothing

that 

gentle pure

space

it's worth

centuries of

existence

say

just to scratch your neck

while looking out the window at

a bare branch

that space

there

before they get to us

ensures 

that 

when they do

they won't 

get it all

ever. 

- Charles Bukowski

So, I'm having a tough week. Okay, a tough month. Possibly a few tough months. I take refuge in people like Bukowski, who had it far worse than I. I'll let him speak for me.

I dedicate this gem of a poem to all the people who feel pulled in a thousand directions. People who don't know what space they stand on. People with thin skin, fragile hearts and a stomach in knots. Who feel squeezed and bone-dry, out of blood and tears. People who are scared. Scared to see themselves turning into mean career-fuckers. People who stand on their head, so their frown looks like the opposite, to those who keep staring at them. Keep on chugging. 


Let’s never let them get to us? 

- Cammy