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Clocks

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When I was a kid
I drew pictures of clocks
tick tock, tick tock
And the floor was cold so I always wore socks
when I ran to the door
just to wait some more
and to cry some more
and I felt like I wanted to die some more
but I couldn't

So in fourth grade I wrote poems
on tear stained pages of
construction paper
tied together with ribbons
by the student teacher

And I would cry
when she came to pick me up from school
because I only had one hand to hold
and everyone else had two
And I know that I made her sad when I cried
and I know that she tried
but all that I wanted to know was why.

And after a while I stopped waiting.
I stopped crying when he was away and
I started writing
and reading and
singing
and I busied myself with all of these things so that
I wouldn't notice that something was missing

but I kept a picture next to my bed
and I tried to keep these thoughts out of my head

and now as the flood gates open
I'm beginning to wonder
what did I think would happen?

because this isn't new
I'm more than used to waiting for you
but its my patience that's fading
my faith that is waning
and I'm scared
that next time you come around
that I wont forget the tears
and the pain
and that I wont smile and say
"its okay"

Yet I wont deny,
I'm a kid staring at these clocks
just like six year old me was
screaming
tick tock, tick tock, tick tock

Still, I cant blame you
and I cant get mad
so I'll blame your mother
and I'll blame your dad
and I'll blame your phone
your driver
your wife
whatever excuse is fed to me
its alright
I'll even blame these clocks
I'll blame these clocks
I'll blame these clocks
I'll blame these ticking clocks.




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