Prose From the Soul: It’s Just a Drizzle

I am me –
A child, a person, a grown up
and whether man or woman
or in whichever form I choose to be or call myself
– I am me.
I am and this, undoubtedly,
which means I will always be me,
even if I try to portray
or pretend to be anyone else –
I am and will always be me

I was me before I found myself,
lost in the riddles of life,
playing with marbles or shooting imaginary pistols
from the tips of my fingers, cops and robbers
army men, or in whichever mode I’d choose;
I was me before the intrusion of the word doubt
or the imposition of reality; in which case,
I was me before I learned the truth about the Tooth Fairy
or the first memory
of a bad time on the bus ride to school

I was me then and I am still me now . . .

I was me before this and after this, I will still be me
and, to be clear, I was me then too
which is before the time of understanding
or before learning about the words rejection
and its associates, popularity and acceptance

Ah, the social titles and the status hungry.
I know them all too well.

I was me before this
and I am still me now and after this as well
and after which,
being me is the only thing I can ever do
(at least, perfectly)

I am this – a voice, a person, a survivor of sorts
I am an inventor of many things –
a creator of my freedoms and limitations.
I am this – a person who has chosen poorly
(at times)

I am a person of mistakes
and a person who lost his way
or maybe I lost my mind and similarly,
I am a person who has contradicted himself
and namely, I have become different people
I have become some people
who I thought would protect me
or, I have become others
who I’d swore I’d never be like

Enter the bullies of the mind,
like an angry Father
or the subsequent memories of bullied moments
where I found myself on the wrong end of the stick –
beaten by intimidations
or by my own perceptions and thus . . .
I am me

I am a child
who is still looking to understand the age-old question,
which is why?

Why?
Why do people do the things they do?
Why do we say what we say when deep down,
we either know we mean something else
or maybe we don’t mean what we say at all
and yet,
out comes the irrational panthers of war
and in emotional warfare,
we say what we say to mirror the pain
and cut the flesh

I am me
I am lost sometimes and no,
no one else can find me
or reach me
and although there are times when life is in slow-motion,
and as the pictures of life move before my eyes;
there are times when I wonder –
is this really happening?

I am me
I am this
I am depression. I am anxiety.
I am recovery. I am the ghosts of my past.
I am redemption and the reinvention of my life.

I am the remnants of what’s been left behind
and in most cases, I am the aftermath of 18,244 days,
which is how many days I have been alive,
up until this point.
(That’s almost 50 years, if you’re trying to do the math.)

I am no better or worse; yet,
I am better in some cases and worse in others,
and when I say this,
I mean this in comparison to my better judgment.

I mean this in comparison to others as well,
in which I find myself losing this game –
the comparison one, that is.

I am the scars of abuse. I am the voice of redemption
I am flawed and defected and perfect and genuine.

I am a compilation of secrets and sadness
and sentimental memories
that have lived with me for nearly half a century.

I am not now nor any longer interested
in who approves or who likes me
or who cares and yet – I have the need to be wanted
and included and yet, why bother?
Why bother being worried about this
because in most cases, this is beyond my control.

I have to say this now:
Interpretation is none of my business and then again,
I am the interpretation of the things I’ve heard throughout the years
or should I say
that I am the interpretation of what I’ve overheard
or misheard and misunderstood and yet,
I have marked these as facts or truths.

I am that narcissist yet I don’t want to be.
I am that person who has overstepped
or took advantage and yet, I am not this person at all.
I am not one of the black hearted or absent of empathy
and in the same sentence; there are times
when my center is off-balance and in such times;
I can see where I’ve betrayed my best self
because somewhere, somehow,
I needed something to make me breathe again.

I am me and, therefore, I am sorry and not sorry.
I am better and improving
and working on something new, each day

I am raw – the seed, the spout,
the new sapling which has grown
and I am now the vine
which is ripe and appreciating my moments in the sun.

I am me, which is who I’ve always been and, therefore,
I can recite this or try to look smart
or be dashing and quote the names from our history.
I can try to remake myself
but no matter what I choose to cover me with
beneath this, I will always be me.

I caught a glimpse of my past last night,
which I am no longer responsible for.
What I mean is I’ve paid that debt
but emotion doesn’t know the difference
between settled or outstanding.  

I have not shut down. No,
I’ve just stepped away
in a sense that I have chosen to rebuild
and, in some regards, I am looking to be reborn,
to be forgiven and pardoned
and by permitting myself to be excused,
I am forgiven –

Do you want to know why people keep running?
It’s like the cat with cans tied to its tail . . .
the cat’s just trying to run from the sounds
which clank behind them
But what the cat doesn’t understand
is that the cans can’t hurt them
They just want them gone. Know what I mean?
As in removed
or erased from their memory

People keep running for the same reasons too.
They’re afraid of what might catch up

I get that.
I get that the past is a bitch sometimes.
So is mine.
Today is Friday in early September.
Soon the leaves will fall
and the warm winds will be waiting for next year
and we’ll be here too, waiting
Hopefully

The sun’s coming up
And that’s a good thing
It’s another day to be me
or,
it’s another day to be one step better than who I was before
consecutively, consistently,
and sequentially moving one step forward
persistently

Do you know what it means to trip the light fantastic?
It means to dance in an imaginary or fantastic way
And it doesn’t matter if there’s music
We can just dream about it, you and I
and dance until the stars turn to sunlight

Don’t worry about the rain that’s coming
it’s just a drizzle
and us, well . . .

we’ve gotten through storms like this before
(together)

3 thoughts on “Prose From the Soul: It’s Just a Drizzle

    • I’m just a guy, I guess.
      I’m as lost as the next person and trying to figure out how to be a little better than I was.
      And I’m sure you can relate when I say it’s a challenge sometimes . . . but not always.

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