My Excuses

So here are my excuses
Half way between the painted images of my basement floor,
Sort of strewn or gored with left over pizza, cake plates and bottle caps
And my kitchenette sealed with the small spills of afternoon tea
Of drinks that were far too sweet and mouths too nice to say so

Somewhere near my old drum set with its broken skins
And throne that makes me feel at odds and alone
Past the couch whose legs are falling off
Because of the weight of time spent lying around when we could have been smiling, or laughing or getting along or making love

Close to my bathroom floor signed with love by my morning phlegm
That was coughed up with a little too much blood for my liking
Over by my panic attacks near the counter that had me pulling at my hair in despair
And trying to choose what the most responsible thing to do, when doing what I wanted would have been enough.

Those are my excuses for forgetting my passion and acting safely, forgetting that beauty is in a moment where you can’t hold back or you have to make a decision based on only you, and what you stand for not the feelings of those around you. If you get caught up in being sensitive to everyone seldom is art made, and even less often is happiness born.

How is it that babies are born every second yet every one makes a mother sigh in bliss and a father puff with pride?
Truthfully I don’t know, probably because it’s all a personal race to a meaningful end where the same guy whose been waiting there forever still waits to say
“You’re done, son.”
And I refuse to bend or kneel to the idea that the universe has no purpose or that family is just safety, because safety just means that you don’t want to die for anything.

My friends and I are dangerous. We are the kind of people who are dead to a world that doesn’t understand that we don’t care bout it’s money or plans and when threatened by mortality we can laugh like kings on mighty steeds. The funniest part is that it came for free. Those are the kind of people who I’ll sit with on my back porch sipping wine, and waiting for the stars to prime. Maybe we’ll dance with a reggae jive or just sit in silence with our eyes on the sky.

– Justin Koop (2009)


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