thanks for the share,
but only one word's 
what ya got there!

and it ain't so easy for me,
[quite candidly].
its far more steps,
to focus my lens 
to rep, 

all the peeps I know 
or the places I'll go,

the books to be read 
and marathon threads,

the laughs and tears, 
the groans and cheers -

how can I light this all up 
in one word?

the days and nights, still to go.
the after-school shows.

the courses not run.
the in-class fun.

the pd, the dpa, and curriculum.
the talking, the listening, and pushing the system.

blending They into We,
oh and equity

seems to stall my New Year's commitment.

So,

in choosing my word 
I'll take two, not one.
And I hope that you'll 
see where I'm going.

unexpected expectations are expected
everyday,
so choosing
without ever really knowing

between left and right, 
up and down

kept up with a smile, 
sometimes a frown,

not lowest or highest
leftest or rightest

bestest or worstest
lastest or firstest.

trouble is
that I have two-one words
that fit

and 

no extremes will explain
my mindset best
other than I'm happy 
being an okayist,
who's also okayest.

not the greatest or leastest
not famined or feastest
not flying or falling
not running or stalling

the between
the middle
fits me like a fiddle

So

I choose the hub, the core.
Cause I grow best.
I crave the balance.
Where we connect 
even more.

now 
when we all 
run the middle no farther
[did I mention fiddle?]
and stand at center, 
as one.

if we all see each other
on the line of best fit
since outlying is 
really no fun.

and if you
are wondering
how I came to this
consider the challenge
of finding the balance
of 
an okayest okayist.

seriously?!
it ain't easy.

one way or other
below or above ya
with or without
sure or in doubt
[sorry if I shout],
 
rain or clear weather
 
we are best
when we
stand here
together.

with many words,
not just one.

the edges lay 
 grey and pilled,
 woolen -  
silent folded arms 
embrace 
around the worn 
copper zipper. 
my father lived 
in this sweater, 
he stretched 
and read 
and smoked. 
he held me 
loved my mom 
drank coffee 
and paid taxes. 
it used to smell 
of ash and paper 
from backyard nights 
with a lit cigarette - 
him staring out 
at lost stars 
and distant children. 
now with him gone, 
long after I left him, 
he is here, 
curled on my bed.

there's no bite
or scratch 
here.

no trolls
or tolls
either.

your point,
clicked

and found
a piece
of peace.

followed 
or found,

I appreciate
your time

and your mind.

so
now send 
this post

out into
space

and expect
that someone
likes it.