1
And I hope . . .
I hope that the winds will blow warmly,
and the sun
will shine brightly upon your face.
I hope that the day will be kind
and that the time will move easily,
but not too quickly that we can’t take the time
to soak up the memories
and make something better of this day
or this moment, or this second
by any means
necessary . . .
I hope that yesterday lets you escape the grips
of what took place; and in the event
that your yesterdays were fruitful or plentiful,
and despite the cold winds or the poor weather;
should you have something enough to warm the heart
or fill your lungs with a good strong breath,
then I hope the strengths of your favorable past
blows the winds to your sails
and brings you
exactly where you want to be.
I hope that you find the best kind of togetherness.
I hope that love is abundant and true
and I hope that your life is full and rich,
and regardless of the size of your home
or the wealth in your bank account,
or whether you have an annuity, a pension
or a retirement fund, or despite the money problems
or the influx of constant bills and rising costs of living;
I hope that you can see that your value
and how the worth of your happiness
is truly greater than any kind of monetary wealth.
It has taken me decades to learn this.
But that’s me.
Therefore, I hope this lesson finds you
both well and safely,
timely, and happily.
I hope that your sleep is peaceful
and I hope that when you wake,
the sun creeps in through the window shades
and the shafts of light
find you in the kindest way possible.
I hope that your happiness and your love
and your life becomes your top priority.
I hope that regardless of what happens
from here on in; I hope that you understand
more about your true self
and more about me and more about us,
and more about the fact that yes; somehow,
we were placed here on this big planet
at the same time
and in the same place
for a reason.
I hope that despite the haziness of my mental vision
or regardless of the intrusion
which causes an impact of blurred assumptions,
which take place due to the biased nature
of our wild insecure projections;
and speaking for myself,
I hope that I allow myself the right
and the freedom
to see the beauty around us
without being confused
by the clutter.
I hope that today is not too late
or that it’s never too late, even if making my decision
to reclaim my life or when I claim my “here and now,”
even if this is the last thing I do
or if my decision to turn my life over, so-to-speak,
is made with my last and final breath;
I hope that this declaration stands out
and that my confession and my attempt for redemption
is worthy enough to be recognized
by the heart of my true love, for now,
and for always.
I hope . . . .
2
I was young then,
really young, or should I say
I was irresponsibly young or perhaps I was unforgivably young
at the time and while sifting through my battle
or dealing with different demons
and trying to defend myself
against the chaos of a powdery substance,
and stuck to a nod that was both hypnotic and sad,
yet beautiful from the inside
and ugly from the outside, I found myself
in the hopeless draw towards a euthanized option
and lost to a volunteered madness,
which was degrading and uplifting, hopeless and dangling me,
softly bending me at the knees like a tall blade of grass,
too weak to stand at full attention
or like a leaf, dying after the branch
and drifting slowly towards the ground
but uplifted by an ongoing wind.
Ah, life on the nod.
What a senseless
and misunderstood thing.
I was sick.
I was lost.
I was awake one morning.
I was awakened by the sound of a parade,
heading down Merrick Avenue.
I was sleeping in a ditch
in some vacant lot, which literally
made no sense at all,
especially since I was not homeless
and my home was literally
across the street.
I heard the sound of the parade, marching bands and all
marching from Front Street and up Merrick
and me?
I was amazed.
I peaked over the mound of dirt and rubble
that surrounded the vacant lot.
I knew about this parade
which I was in when I was younger
and still innocent enough.
This was opening day. . .
I was a little kid then
even smaller than my infinite shrinking self
which I had become lost to.
I was part of this when I was young
and hopeful enough
to believe that somehow,
the opening day of little league baseball
could mean that maybe someday,
I could be good enough to hit a grand slam
or score the go-ahead points
with a game-winning homerun.
(But that never happened)
I was even younger then but somehow bigger.
Then again, I was always small. In fact,
I was smaller than anyone else on the team
or anyone else at my age.
I had very little athletic ability, but hey, it was just a game
and back then, I was old enough to believe
in the saying that goes,
“it’s not if you win or lose, it’s how you play the game!”
Right?
Meanwhile, life changes
when you notice the different draws of social clusters
and witness the different versions of popularity.
Life changes when we learn about the different variations
of status, or we see how “the other half” lives
or doesn’t.
Life changes when we learn about the privileges of the pretty
or the so-called beautiful and socially desired—and certainly,
life changes when we learn about the difference
between being “in” or “out”
and life’s little mishaps and misfortunes
can alter our perception of value
especially when we think about
the ideas of the so-called inner-circle,
as opposed to the preconceived outcasts
or the social pariahs and the leppers of the crowd.
No one ever asks to be uncool or unworthy.
No one wants to be uncomfortable
in their own skin
and nobody asks to be left out in the cold
or pushed out from the circle
and rejected by the masses to find themselves
in some kind of social hibernation, alone,
or canceled like a misfit, and cast out,
like some unwanted refuse or trash.
I was on the other side of the equation
which is to say that while I admit
to being part of a clique
or following a crowd.
However, I was too unsure and too afraid
to stand on my own ground
or to speak up for myself
or to defend myself from the angry teeth of social bullies
or the private ones in my head.
I was too lost or too hurt and too angry
that somehow, or for some reason;
the cliques and the varied positions of popularity
were already predetermined, as if to say
that I never had a chance
unless I fit the bill
or had “A look”
or a quality that made me stand above
the usual.
I was angry at the so-called pretty people
who were already
all too critical of who you are,
what you look like, what you weigh, and of course,
what you wear . . .
I found myself on the dangle,
wishing that I was worthy
or noticeable instead of seemingly unseen.
I was someone who was looking for an answer
or for some kind of remedy
or better, I was looking to find a redeeming cure
that could not only heal my heart
or make it easy to “not care”
but also
I wanted something to solve the riddles
of why I was so different
or unlike the masses or misfitting,
or misshapen in some way
as if to declare myself
as permanently
defective.
Do the drugs help?
Sure.
Do they do more harm than help?
Of course
But, when you feel so low,
or if you can’t sleep or rest
or if you can’t fix yourself
or stop the bleeding
or kill the pain,
a person will do anything
just to find peace.
I remember the time before status took over,
which was back when we were all safe
to sit in the same room and eat lunch together
without differentiating between cool or uncool
desired
and unwanted.
But the world opened up to a bugger scheme,
and some people went left and others went right
and some reverted down to size and some grew, and others,
well, there were others like me
who dwindled in the mass artillery
of misperceptions and self-destruction.
I remember the parade though
and coming out of the dope nod . . .
I remember when that was me
marching through my town
safe and as dysfunctional as it was;
I was innocent as ever,
and wearing my little baseball uniform
that seemed to be 5 sizes too big.
I don’t know what happened, or how,
yet I know everything that happened
and how and why.
Burn marks on my lips from a white hot
glass pipe
empty stomach
sick . . .
I was waking “coming to”
after a long night and sick from a chemical response
which was triggered by a deadly substance
that I was trying hard to tame
or perfect.
Man . . .
It was another life
I was another person.
I had no hope nor an idea
that my life would possibly live this long.
Even in the absence of hope, somehow,
life happens to show us the way.
Somehow, the wrong directions turned out to be right
in the long run.
I haven’t seen a little league game in decades,
and I haven’t been to an opening day parade
when the baseball season starts
in what seems like a lifetime.
But I have to say,
it would be nice to see something like this
just to let the Gods know that yeah,
that was me (back then)
but this is me now.
33 years clean
3
I have nothing to hide anymore.
I have no reason to doubt my hope
or to hide this from you or from anyone else.
Even if my hopes are to miss their mark
and even if the life I hope for
is out of my reach, then at least,
I can say that I still reached for my best
because otherwise, I would do nothing else
but accept my sadness or the mundane concepts
of basic, every day, mediocrity, and thus;
I would never know the victory behind getting up
after being knocked down,
or learning to love,
even if my love goes unreturned.
I am here and in the middle of too many things.
Yes, I have hope.
And sure, there are times when I am otherwise hopeless
and otherwise scared and otherwise lonely
and otherwise lovesick or empty,
like a void, or like some dismal abyss,
unsure if I am worthy, unsure if I am too little, too late,
and unsure if my life is worthy enough
for my counterpart and soulmate to see me as I am,
and still want me.
I want to be seen
in total with
faults and flaws and imperfections and all;
and despite them or despite my challenges
or my simple to mild dysfunctions
or even of my dysfunctions are higher on the scale
and my mental clarity is clouded by misguided thinking,
I want to be seen and still be wanted
exactly the way I am.
I want to be noticed, regardless of my hardships
which have led me to either self-destructive ideas
or behaviors or worse,
these are the things that led me to push away the love of my life;
and despite anything supposedly bad or off-putting about me;
I have hope that somehow, the heavens above
will open enough to allow a crease of sunshine
that beams through the clouds,
like a promise of upcoming beauty,
and because of this,
I want my love to be returned without end
regardless
because true love is not about true beauty
but instead,
this is about the fact that nothing ugly can tarnish
the love in my heart
or yours.
I want to be good . . .
(Do you understand?)
I want to be worthy enough to risk it all.
I want to be wanted
I want to be valued and counted
I want to be the one . . .
And I mean the only one.
And I hope this works.
My trick, I mean.
I hope that I can pull this off
before the hour moves beyond midnight
because when I wake up,
I want to wake up to a new life
with a new beginning and even if this beginning
happens to me on my last day, then fine.
I get it.
Shit happens
But at least I held true to my love
and at least I kept my promise.
(I promise)
4
I hope that the day goes well
and that the sunset is as pretty as I dream of
when thinking about lying back on a beach
at the end of the day,
behind 100 Lincoln Road
where the Florida sun is warm as ever,
and the sea in the background hushes the waves
and folds them on the shoreline, like an choir,
and the chorus of Mother Earth is enough to remind me
to “hold on, son. Mother has a gift for you—and trust me,
she’s right there with you,
which is exactly where you need her to be.”
She too
is waiting for the answer to the riddle
and waiting for the moment
when it’s safe
to make the jump to lightspeed.
and to be happy.
I hope . . . .
The Written Addiction 