"...ok, part two: now clear the house..."

The education I don’t think I need—
on how to live this life and not someone else’s.
The time I spent wandering around without much in my pockets,
I miss that.
I learned how to see my face in mirror and not next to
Or in place of
Something much more than what I needed to be.
Do I not too, bleed?

I guess what I’m saying is
We’re all trying to teach each other something
(or other)
over a glass of chardonnay
or something much stronger
but my truth never came in a bottle
or in a filtered package wrapped in cellophane.
It didn’t even come when he left me standing in the parking lot—
Like how I remember what I was wearing that day.
Almost down to the minute detail.
(how many bobby pins were in my hair.)
no.

That was the cleanest break I ever felt
That was the day
(I’m so sure of it now)
that I was finally set free
and it is still not my truth.
My truth comes in a similar moment,
But not the same packaging.
And I found it in the bottom of the wishing well
(self-same styled fountain of what it means to be debonair)
I found it in the depth of
(how did they say it?)
oh, my,
peace.
And yet, I’m still on learning’s lesson-track.

So, if you go out
Only
To come back in
And teach me something else,
Then consider this pupil fair warned—
of not something much stronger.
For, what all men are reaching for
is the same in this lifetime as it was all those millennia ago.
(and, see,
there is my hope)
Reaching for,
to wrap my fingers around.
Reaching for,
just to plainly come out and say it,
all those
broken
broken
broken
parts and pieces
that someday will materialize into
whole.

And so,
There you do have me.
And have me there.