I have to go
or move
or get up
or, if I don’t
I might fall deeper.
Understand?
I have been to the point where
I had to ask myself,
What now?
What do I do?
What’s gonna happen?
Or,
What’s next?
Am I here again?
Lost?
Or, am I at a crossroad?
Maybe . . .
Maybe this is not a crossroad at all
and this is simply me
looking at a new journey
and walking along
as if to be in need for something
like a song or a cadence
so that I can march
and keep my step.
Now, of course,
there is no time to doubt
or to worry
or to fight or argue.
I am now and will forever be
a full and total believer
that I have to save my own life
on a daily basis.
I know that above all,
the world s really a good place.
I know that on the other side of my losses
and that despite my falls
or the scrapes
or the bumps and the bruises,
regardless of how bad or sad
or desperate;
I know there is something out there
for me.
There has to be . . .
I am not a mind reader.
I can’t tell the future.
I can’t see in the dark
and sometimes,
it’s like I can’t hear anything
except for my thoughts, of course,
and yes, I can tell you
without any uncertainty—there are times
when our thoughts turn against us
or in my case,
I can see how this makes me crazy.
But to what avail?
There are times when the kindness of the world
or the purity of things, or the love of someone
or when the generosity is overwhelming,
or, say, when the truth around me
or the views of beauty
is bittersweet; and me,
I am like a child who hasn’t seen daylight
and the brightness becomes blinding
or too much for my eyes.
I can say that I have seen beauty
or more,
I have seen the most beautiful faces,
places, things, or heard the music
to which, God, I wish I was brave at the time
because yes, I could have danced
and you would have been swung with me
beneath the moon because to me
this would have defined the meaning,
“Just when I needed you.”
There are times when
I see my future
and my hopes
and I can see my dreams,
which all seems to be at arm’s length,
and amazing as the sun
or as beautiful as the horizon
yet, I’m afraid to reach out
or to touch them
because the old demons
love to burrow
or they’ll whisper or tell me,
sorry son
but this one’s not for you.
And it is within me to doubt
or fear
or worry and wonder;
and it’s within me to fear
that maybe “it’s me”
as if to think
that somehow,
there is some kind of evidence
that suggests I am
less-than, or unworthy;
and this is daring, of course,
that I tell you this
or admit the faults in my facade . . .
One could say this is brave yet
I do not think or feel bravely,
nor do I connect this with fear
or the absence thereof.
Instead,
I call this honesty.
And that’s all this is –
me being honest with you.
I call this a piece of my truth,
and yes,
this is only a piece
because there are other parts of me,
which are far more brilliant
and far stronger, and more resilient
and able than the fears
which degrade me
or suggest that maybe
I might love you
but I am not worthy enough
for you to love me back.
There is more to me than a word
which is more of a label than anything;
and more than the challenges I have lived with
or lived through
and even more than my secret of endurance,
and more than the wallowing moments
when I swore that all was lost
and I was alone—somehow,
I’m still here and then again
so are you,
which means
I’ve never been alone,
at least not really.
I think about all of our subtle inaccuracies
and the ones which are not so subtle at all.
I think about the sin of self-doubt
and the unawareness of personal beauty
or, without anything flowery,
I think about you and the way
you fail to see your beauty
and to me; this is my fault
because it’s me
who should make sure you know
nothing about you could ever be ugly.
I think about the inaccuracy of imperfection
and the clarity which comes when
the sun comes up, and there you are.
I think about the moment
when our lives awaken to a greater morning
or, like it is with you
or with love
I think about the eyes
which allow us a better look
into our soul.
These are better than the mirrors of the universe
and so,
whether I am beautiful or not
or whether you are flawless
or otherwise—
the truth of the matter is, to me,
not even the sun can bring shadows
across your face
and in the evening,
when the moonlight touches down
and the stars catch your eyes;
I can see myself in the pools
of this reflection—this is you
to me, and this is what I see
when I look in your eyes
and for the moment,
nothing in the world
can hurt me.
Not when I’m with you
It is not an easy place—the world, I mean
nor is this an easy place to be,
life, I mean.
But somehow, and for some unknown reason,
regardless of what happens
or how far I’ve fallen
or even if I continue to fall,
I realize that I have fallen for a reason,
and that I have regained my composure
at some point; and that despite the pain,
I stood back up
regardless of what took place
or whether I was stiff or not,
or if I could walk freely
or humbled; somehow,
no matter what, I have never given in
and come to think of it,
I believe that you are right –
we have never given up.
Yes, I think you’re right . . .
I think there’s a miracle on the way
and maybe I need to realize this
or believe
or have hope
and, at minimum,
I think that I have to
trust the process.
But either way,
I know,
the world awaits me
one day after another—or
one day at a time
and that I’ll have to keep going
until the time comes
when I smile and say yeah,
it was all worth it.
And I get it.
No one knows the hour
or the day.
Not the Angels in Heaven
and not even The Son.
Only the Father knows.
Well, Father,
I know there is something out there
that needs me, and I know
I have more to do
and there’s a lot of me
which is still undone—just,
if it’s possible . . .
give me some more time.
I promise not to let you down.
Dear Moon of Miami,
I have never seen anything
as beautiful as you
or felt warmth
like I have from my dreams
and the tales of nightlife
down by 100 Lincoln Road.
So, please
come for me
let me let it all out
and leave nothing up to the judges
because to me,
it’s time.
Okay?
The Written Addiction 