MICRO POETRY BY JOEL JANIKOWSKI

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With this familiar rhythm, I find comfort in seeing old ways come anew.

As if an old friend came by to deliver good news.

I wish onto others a chance to learn from my past.

But that not how this works, each lesson is a gift not meant to be passed.















If you think that I don't care anymore, then your eyes have been closed this whole time.














This pain is your choice, not mine. It has been all along.














It's a disappointment to see your comfort in writing others off; because I can see so much good in you.














It's amazing how appreciation can be as hard as the apology.














All we need is a good distraction; A moment to remember, we are alive and not alone.














I’ve seen this before, it’s appalling.

Another chance for them to diligently pour that acid down your back

And yet somehow, you treat it like nothing more than water.

Your love is more powerful than its definition. I need you to know that.















To say I am angry, bitter, or broken, is a understatement... But to say I am hopeless, is a mistake















I fell through a trap door, into a box of unbreakable glass.

Pounding and screaming, trying to reach you with every gasp.

Every time I felt the end; all I wanted to say, was I love you.

But all you could see was my fear, so I knew that it was something I had to get used to.














I see so much love in your patience.














This mind feels infected, so heavy and reckless.
















Appreciate the joy you share with others.

Those moments are rare;

And the only thing we can truly call our own.















It gets lonely here. Living life with nothing but the memories.















I tried to make you into something your not. Thank you for resisting.

I expected you to be something you are not. Thank you for resisting.

I accept you for your choices. Thank you for resisting.

We step forward as we spread apart. Again, thank you for resisting.















My absence has nothing to do with you.

















I was afraid... I was afraid that over time, I would not hear the calls.

Afraid that you would grow tired, I would grow bitter, and we would get old.

But as life went on I found these truths.

Bitterness can't own your soul and those calls will come back like new.

And even though we still got old, I found that fear had no use.