I don’t know what to do with my hands

I don’t know what to do with my hands
When looking beyond my self.
I don’t know how to stand in a crowd
When in front of the camera.
I don’t know why I forget who I am
When placed in situations no different
From what I do every day and
I hope I have the mindset to remember
Rather than making myself up every time.

If you were only a memory,

If you were only a memory,
I would bottle-up and drown
In time to never lose sight,
And cough into the cloth
Ripped from your favorite shirt.

If you were only a memory,
I would bottle-up and drown,
Forgetting being alive would be
The only way to honor who
We used to be, those two
Lovers licking wounds,
Falling as we walked and
Holding on to hands so warm
That fingers slipped away;
And we would see the night
As the only time to forgive ourselves
For staying still when there’s
So much we hadn’t done,
So much we hadn’t done,
So much we didn’t do.

And I can’t blame us,
Using the night to
Be together, still,
I can’t blame us,
Using the night to
Be together, still.

Memory, that most dull sense

Memory, that most dull sense
Of being when not used,
Giving context only
To the holder and their eyes,
Forgetting the feeling of
The swirling many
Broke into the frame and
Providing direction off-screen;
And bless the records, those
Sights and sounds
Kept to lock in
The flavor of the meal,
Living, that most full sense
Of being part of more.

In rows,

In rows, life gives order;
Bent, straight, grouped, stacked,
These rows provide a linking,
Giving weight and measured time,
To their purpose, place, and builders.