Scene: The Grocery Store

The place where you called me the worst grocery cart organizer there could possibly be. I decided to understand this potential new theory and have discovered that:

It is not mathematically possible.

To be the worst grocery cart organizer I would have had to have failed to possess all the qualities that are considered the epitomes of organizing things in the grocery cart.

If there were certain qualities to look for in an organizer's cart, the greatest would be the separation of fruits and vegetables in their entirety from the heavy items- cereal boxes, cans of soup, etc. The downward slant of the cart's carrying section causes weights of the food to be shifted, which causes undesired forces on the mixed in fruit and vegetables, ultimately yielding undesirable fruits and vegetables due to bruises and soft spots.

There could be an infinite amount of qualities along with the one mentioned above that would make me be considered a bad grocery cart organizer, proving that I'm pretty close to being the worst grocery cart organizer. But I do possess this one trait of keeping the fruits and vegetables (and sometimes the bread) separate. If i did not possess this quality then it would be understandable that I was the worst, assuming that I already had all the ill-desired qualities as well.

So maybe my percentage of good organizing skills is low, but there is still the chance that someone out there doesn't separate their fruits and vegetables.

All I know is, he ain't me. He's mister 0% and i'm mister .00000000000ooooooo1%. So you can call me terrible, that's a title i've earned. I take that happily in stride. Because I am. You can call me subpar, because i'm down in the trenches with all the other guys who are underperforming in their grocery cart organization. Telling me to try harder would be perfect the perfect bit of advise.

But when you call me something I'm not, it stays under my skin, crawling for days. I am not actually "the worst". but it stays with me as if it is trying to tempt me to be that. Like a scarlet letter for everyone to see, read and know about. To let everyone have someone that they can point to and say, "well at least i'm not the worst guy, he doesn't even separate his fruits and vegetables". That is not a name that fits, but a title you awarded me. It is a crux.

Shock and Awe Campaign

All my words are nimble, agile, stealthy. Invading your shores.
They bring diplomacy, good tidings; they bring war.

And you're always caught off guard
when something new presents itself
a mind that is still so unexplored.

I spend all my time waiting for you
to catch up and figure out what I had
already figured out a long time ago
what we speak of now

and by the time you've recovered, there is
another tidal wave falling from above you.

Stammering

i'm so unsure of myself that i don't even take the time to capitalize "i".
Thoughts of winning, granduer, achievement, they don't even cross my mind.
So what would you expect me to do, when the only thing I've got goes away.
Caught off guard, forgetting what it used to be like, to be me. Instead this someone else.

how they run

crystal clear down the sides of your face
they reinvigorate weary souls
they are the catalyst in the process of change.

you cry a thunder storm.
sounding off triumphantly
looking so perfect and natural
your tears, they smell of rain
so pure and clean, healing wounds;
absolving the forsaken.

they are lightning bolts,
tracing the contours of your face.
they strike so hot,
cauterizing my insides
searing the brand of your name
into my heart.

broken

don't think that it is incapable of what it was before. that it is any less than it was. sometimes bones may not regrow the right way once they have splintered. but they are just as likely to come back stronger than they were before. because it shattered does not mean that it won't break again. but the possibility that it will be greater than it was is enough to get up and hope for the best.

tessellate

how the pieces fit. so perfect. all the little shapes coming together. all the delicate shards swept up and put back in place. "good as new"

but the lines are there, however fine, they are there.
and they are screaming.

about the injustice they were created from.
they won't let you forget how it felt to be a shattered form of what once was.

as though forgetting was possible.

and when i see the lines in the mirror, i remember.
and when the cold water flows over it, i feel it find those niches.
the wind fights through the smallest of spaces.
time never lets you forget.

and if the appearance plagues you, just mend it.
you can sew it back together. super glue it.
whatever you need to do to try and remember what it felt like before hand.

you come to terms with it. and i'm happy if you do.

but i can't help but feel it will never be seamless again. and that makes me feel greater than i ever did before. proof of staving off adversity. demonstrating that this is still mine to keep. My chance is still out there, because I have not given up.

unthawing

its unnerving; i'm unraveling
at the idea of just waiting things out.

like coming in from the cold
and waiting for my hands to unfreeze.
the slowest torment. and i lose focus
throwing myself all over the sink.
curled up clutching my icy digits.

i clench my hands tight. and hold. and can only think of the misery.
how it stops you in your tracks, how it captures the mind and all i think about is the thaw.
your bones warming, blood flow returning.
thinking of just getting through this ordeal,
romanticizing a return to comfort

you try to rationalize it.
telling yourself that it will be all over soon.
but soon doesn't come early enough.
and the pain lingers. a continuous pushing.
and it lasts, until it doesn't.
the ache goes away for a while.
and i forget about it. and move on.
never really learning from the experience.
dooming myself to relive it over and over again.