I have never been anyone else. Therefore, I cannot say what it means to think or feel like anyone else would.
I never looked at myself in the mirror and believed that I was born in the wrong body.
But yes. I have looked in the mirror and believed that I was born in the wrong life.
Safe to say . . .
I have other issues or challenges with my reflection.

Then again, one man’s poison is another man’s pleasure and whether I appreciate what I see or find a sense of confidence when I look at myself in the mirror, I do believe that someone out there sees me as perfect.
At least, I am perfect for them.
Or, so I hope.

What if there is no if . . .
what if this is the way it is
and what if the wind never comes back
or blows like it used to?

What happens when we fail to turn the page
and let the next chapter
become what it is
and of course
then what becomes of us
becoming who we are
as opposed
who are supposed to be?

Or better yet,
I ask
are these things even possible?

Good morning.

I exhale my sleepy thoughts and wake early.
As usual.
I have been told that if I want something, then I have to put it out there.
Out there.

I’ve been out there for too long and yet, I was told that if I want something, then I have to claim it.
I have to own it, whatever it may be.
It is morning, quiet as ever.

The sky is about to change from dark to light. The colors of dawn are beginning to make their appearance at the horizon.
Beautiful shades of soft pastel colors wear around the horizon in my view.
I am elsewhere for now or at least, for today.
I can see the world from a different perspective here.
I am on the beach in Delaware, a state that I never knew much about and yet, like anywhere, beauty lives here too.

What does it mean, if anything, to be someone??
“To be someone”
I re-enter this with quotations because no one is ever “nobody” and anyone can be anybody, depending upon the dream, of course.

Safe to say that I will never find myself as a starting guard in an NBA game.
Safe to say that I will never sell out Madison Square Garden with my singing voice.
Safe to say that my Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu career will never lead me to a fight contract with the professional league.
But this does not mean I can never be who I’ve always dreamed to be.

I saw a famous speaker on video. He was approached by a young woman who told him she was going to be somebody . . .
one day.

What does this mean
to be somebody . . .

The rain is going to split the day in two
or so I am told.
I am told the weatherman says
the day will be partly cloudy to which this means
the day will be sunny at times.

I am told about the clouds having a silver lining
or that despite the rough times
or bad whether”
there will always be a caveat
which is a limitation
which shows that even if the world is about to end
nothing can end to completion
more than once.
And so, therefore
nothing can destroy me again
unless I allow it to.

I suppose I can say that I am in a holding pattern.
I am waiting and facing a temporary moment in time. But then again, I understand that all of this and all of what we see, and all of what we think and what we feel is temporary.
Well, maybe not everything . . .

I am done though
I am doe with hate.
I am done with the thoughts that degrade me. I am doe with the past and done with the fights and the arguments that bring me back to moments of emotional despair.
I am done with the heat-seeking missiles of emotional warfare and done with my thoughts of revenge.
None of this does any good for me.

It is a trip to say the least and to say the least, it is a trip to turn around and realize that yes, age took place, time has passed, and years have gone by in a flash.
Wow . . .
I will be 54 next month.
This is life and again, I repeat the C’est la vie, this is life or such is life and such is age, and time, and such are the realizations which take place when we are old enough to look back.

Here I am, sitting in a waiting room to have my blood drawn.
I do not like doctors . . .
I am too young to be this old.
Or so I think.
But I am too old to think that I will be young forever.

When there is no room left for excuses and when there is nowhere left to turn, the next few steps may seem painful or perhaps risky. But rest assured, when there’s nothing left, then there’s nothing left, which means the next steps we take are far more worthy than anything else in our life.
Therefore, now is the time to pick up the pieces and see what we can do, “to make a go of it.”

I ask the question, why?
Why do we fight? Why do we argue?
Why do we waste our time on insignificant things when we know that time is short, the moment is all we have, and if this is so. Then why do we spend our precious time and bicker back and forth with the ones we love?

And more than anything, I have to say that “it just can’t stop.”
Nothing stops.
“It just doesn’t work like that.”

The dreams, I mean.
Nothing stops when it comes to matters of the heart and as for the mind?
Well?

Something is amiss . . .
Or maybe something is off or off-center and me, I am somewhere in the middle.
Do you understand?

I am stuck and looking around at the world that somehow consumes me.
There is too much to see and so much to consider and at the same time; I am reminded when I was told, “keep it simple, stupid!”
Overthinking can be amazing.
or at least, I think so.

1)

And how would it be? A new world?
A new life?
A new time, made for a new form of living and a new way which is mad or madder than the madman who lives to die or dies to live.
What is this?

What is desire if nothing else than a spot or a place in my heart to which I swear to live and remain unfearful to die, or if at all or if anything else, who am I now or who will I be now?
Who will I become now that the older versions of me have been dismissed?

The time was sunset during an early August moment just before the sky changed.
All was quiet.

I was sitting in a small beach chair in a field of green grass and looking around at a small park known to me as Eisenhower.
And this place too.
This place dates back to the longstanding memories of this thing I call my youth and the birthplace of too many memories that caused me to worry and fear the backhand of the status quo.

The rain is heavy outside.
I suppose the rain matches the mood and the mood matches the time.
At least, for me.

I think now is a good time for me to get this out.
The wind picked up but so has the rain.
Perhaps now is a good time for me to cleanse my soul.
And so . . .
here I go

What do you miss the most? I ask this because if you miss something or if you miss anything, then there has to be a reason and regardless of what the reason is, what do you miss and what do you miss the most?

I will say there is bravery in our decisions to stand up and walk away.
There is bravery to face the unknown and even if we chose to stay someplace and not take the risk and venture outwards or onwards, it take courage to make a decision, —even if that decision appears weak or cowardly; it is a brave thing to face the pains that come with “more of the same.”

And I say this to you, despite the craziness of all the things around me . . . the morning is perfect.
Nothing is pressing and nothing is weighing too heavy at the moment.
The day is young and fresh, as if to just be born or perhaps I should say the day is born again.
And for now, this is more than good enough.
For now, everything is perfect.

You never forget and of course, how can anyone ever forget the times of their lives?
And of course, I agree, the times of our life have changed and altered from their original state.
But this is a normal thing.
This is a thing that comes with age.
Time moves and the glory days are more glorious and the memories become amplified like a fish that we caught as kids and somehow, the fish seems to get bigger each time we told the story.

My heart does this too.
It gets bigger, I mean.
And sometimes, my heart misremembers and oftentimes, my heart glorifies and amplifies the realities that took place, way back when.
And this is funny to me too because the world has ways of taking us in different directions and somehow, we come back to the same point and meet who we are supposed to meet.
Years pass.
Wait, no.
Decades.

It amazes me that yes, I was blind. I was blind to the truth and blinded by the surrounding ignorance and the stupid bliss of capricious youth. I was blinded by the so-called standard and the status whores who were all too driven by the ideas of being cool and popular.
I was blind to the pains or the painful truth that there is a great big world out there and that life and all its meanings were bigger than my tiny circles of influence.
My life was small and the world was greater in magnitude and more worthy than the local knucklehead friends.
Friends . . .

And you start to wonder if there is such a thing . . .
You think about the world you live in and all the ups and downs or the highs and the lows.
You think.
You know?

You wonder about the lucky ones, or at least, I should keep this on me; and so, if this is on me, then I should say that this is on me.
And it is me who wonders about the lucky ones or the so-called beautiful ones who always seem to have it easier.

In the end,
it all comes down to money,
how much you have
who you pay
how big is your house
and how much do you pay out.

The idea of restarting
or rebuilding your life
and the idea
of having to start over
or the word “dating”
and reopening yourself
to a new idea
or a new relationship . . .

I have news for you. Friends are often fair weathered and half the people who swear and promise to be there if you need them are either far away or far too busy when you need them the most.
So, in all fairness to you, me or us and myself, I have to suggest this.
Get used to saving your own life kid, which is not a bad thing to say.

I know.
. . . I know

I know how they say “after the rain comes the rainbow” and after the ah, comes relief.
I get it.
I do.

And I go back to this idea because in all fairness, where else can I go?
Where else can I go if I have no better place than this?
Who else can I turn to if I have no one else?
And if I have no one else, then let me turn to you here.
Or, at least let me try.

I go back to the idea that you can’t care. You just can’t.
You can’t care about the psychopaths or the angry ones or the enemies at the gates.
You have to ignore them.
Ignore them and the hypocrites and their lies and their accusations and the rumors they spread.
Ignore the banter because this only draws you in, which is all they want anyway.
Right?
Stalkers want attention.
So do enemies.
This is their life.
How amazing this is for them . . .
right?

You know what??
I don’t care.
Not anymore
So . . .
I think I will say what I have to say and to be honest,
I do not care whether you listen or if anyone else
is on board with me
or for the moment, I refuse to let the outside influences
do anything to me that makes me
deny my truth
that is –
even if my truths are hard to face
or
unfortunate

So,
here I go.

If you want it then you have to want it.
Nothing can stop this.
Nothing is allowed to get in your way and nothing, no matter what it is, no matter how big the obstacle is and no matter how thick the walls might be and no matter how high you have to climb and how hard you have to work, nothing is allowed to get between you and “it”

I slide into reality like one of those old great ball players who slide into third base with hopes to lead his team to a run that wins the game.
Jim Carroll said, “I just want to be pure.”
I don’t know how possible this is for me. Then again, there are those who live with their impurities and still manage to come out on top or they figure out how to get ahead without chopping off the heads of the people in front of them

I know I was told the last shall be first and the first shall be last.
And in all fairness and kindness to myself, I do not know where I fit in this race. I am not first or last but somewhere in-between.

As grown as I am
I am equally childlike
and immature at times,
and hence, I can see this clearly now
and more clearly than before
because, of course;
due to the benefits of hindsight,
my hindsight shows me how my flaws
can degrade me
and worse
my actions can be humiliating
if I am being honest. . .

Why?
Why do we fight?
Why argue?

Why do we fight so hard and lead with our strong hand
instead of showing patience
and why can’t we choose to be happy
instead of fighting harder to be right?

I am amazed . . .
And more, it amazes me to see how everything changes|
despite how everything is still the same..

I drove by the old house this morning.
Nothing is the same and yet,
not much had changed, except for me
and except for the landscapes.

The old bar is a deli now.
I used to hide in the back of that place
and sneak into the cellar.
Sometimes I slept there.
Mostly, I nearly died there
but somehow, here I am,
alive and well and able to tell you about this.

You think you have a choice, but no.
You don’t.
Who you are is who you are and of course,
there are reasons behind this
same as there is a reason behind “us.”

And so,
such is the way you are, such is the way you were born
and more, such are the reasons you exist in this world.
There is a reason for everything
I know –

I do not say change is unavoidable
and nor is change avoidable
but man can only hit his head
so many times
until he learns his lesson.
Late or not.
Lessons come with a price
and prices often come as consequences

Let today be sufficient for itself is what I was told.
So, okay.
I will let that happen and let today be different from the day before

There is an amazing way the city moves. I swear.
The City moves in different phases and then of course, the fashions sway from one extreme to another. And all this depends upon the time of day or your location, of course. 
I was always told New York City is the melting pot, or at least I was told this long ago when I was young.

I was told this before the words diversity, equity, and inclusion became the buzzwords that they are today.
I can agree that my City has different places with different vibes and to me, the vibrations and the neighborhoods all have a different significance to me.
All of them own different stations in my heart. And so do you, by the way.

Nevertheless, there are all kinds of people and different versions of beauty here. There is every culture and all kinds of people who come in all shapes and sizes. 

Before you go, I just want you to know
about who you are
and what you mean to me.

And so, before you go
you should know that my love for you
will never stop or be sick
or become too weak
to walk the world

Just know that my love
will live longer than my lifetime.
Know this.

Nighttime and all is right with the world.
I am dialed in and smooth at the moment, or even better,
I am like the softness of good music
smooth as ever beneath a starlight sky
in the cobblestone section of our
Downtown, New York City streets

The moon is on the rise.
The warmer winds are calm and the stars,
Good-God,
the stars are better than the sparkles
from the bursting rockets on the 4th of July.

I swear . . .

A pair of shoes, a shirt,
a known article of clothing
and a memory that serves you well
in your future life.

I watched something pure happen.
I saw a father and his son at the beach
yesterday.
They were looking through the shallows
collecting shells
and digging for sand crabs.

It’s not there now,
and now, I’ll have to find what I am looking for.
I’ll have to find the trail or the path
or the way
and so, I go and I move
and I find new ways to navigate
my way from here to there.

Whatever that means.
look up.
look ahead.
See?

In a million years

People say this
All the time.
In a million years

People say how they never thought
something would happen….
Not in a million years

1)

And you start to wonder who isn’t who
and who isn’t real
and then you start to ask yourself
and you think even more . . .
then you rethink about who told you
they “were there” of how they were on your side
and next, you realize who it was
and how they were never who they said they were.

It was advised to me that I be aware of my company.
I was also advised to be mindful of who I listen to.
Else, I might listen to a fool
or that I might be so foolish to listen to the advice
from someone who I’d never turn to.

I was told that my story belongs to me
and that by sharing my story,
I am offering myself to those outside of my control
because of course, intention and interpretation
are seldom the same things.