Promises slip my mind

until they fall and break

on the cold expectations

of solid friends and family.

 

I genuinely want to remember my promises.

I write them on the metaphorical hand my mind,

so that somewhere

in the far reaches of my memory

I might remember the task I promised to complete.

 

But like this ever-changing world,

my memory of my promises

never services when I need it.

Like a bubble stuck in thick gel,

My promises never make it to the top of my mind

before it's too late

and the opportunity has passed.

 

I try to build my promises strong and firm

So that they do not break

when I unconsciously push them aside,

sweeping them from the table.

I try to build them big enough

so that I noticed their absence.

 

But, try as I might,

They always slip through the cracks

And disappear around the corner

Only to be found broken,

When Spring cleaning happens.