31)
I find myself lost sometimes
or perhaps,
I am only hidden in plain sight
and simply put,
I am alive
and aloud
and living in times
of your so-called
constructive criticism,
unless, of course—
I disagree.
I find myself amongst the masses
missing in action
and so,
I am wondering;
where have I gone?
What have I done?
Was it worth it?
Or have I left myself out in the cold
and kept too many people
at an arm’s distance,
to keep them
from coming close . . .
or maybe,
just maybe if it is true to say
I have been around the world
and back, as in back
in full circle;
then I have been here the entire time,
missing nothing
but overthinking everything,
and thus,
there is a great big picture
that went on in front of me,
undetected.
I am riding along the same
path
and while taking different streets
I know,
the avenues are the same
and so am I,
at least
to some degree.
I want to find whatever it is
I am looking for
before it is too late
and I lose what I have
because I chose to overlook
the obvious.
32)
I have seen the corners where bad things happen
and I have gone back
to where the bullets hit the sky
and, of course,
I mean this in different ways.
I mean this both
figuratively and literally,
and metaphorically as well.
I am neither the enemy nor the problem,
but I am in the middle; therefore,
if I am to find the solution,
then I must solve the equation
that begins with the number one.
And that’s me.
I am the one.
I am that square root to my own equation.
I am the math that separates me
from fact or fiction,
assumption or truth.
If I am lost, or missing
or if I am misled or misinformed,
or if I am only mildly misdirected,
then, of course,
I am the only person
who can come to an understanding,
and I am the only one
who can come to a constructive conclusion,
and therefore, if I am the missing number
or if I am the one.
I am the one true and key ingredient,
or if I am missing
or if I added wrong,
then the only person who can correct
myself is me.
No one can come to an understanding
or realize
and retain information for me.
I have spent lifetimes, falling down the same holes
or walking into the same walls
and falling in the same pitfall
without understanding the words
“contributory negligence.”
Stop . . .
This is a great word
No, wait.
This is a powerful word.
Stop!
What a great Idea . . .
No more.
I’m done.
Finished
and through.
33)
Rage before the dawn
and rage at the birth of light,
or rage at the birth of your freedom
and rage at the plans,
rage at the politics
rage at the sum of our own ignorance
and rage about the fights
and the misunderstood moments
which you never meant to happen.
Rage about your Gods
or your claim to the Kingdom of Heaven
or rage about who says their prayer right
or who prays wrong,
and rage to who owns the gates
or who has the right to say you stay,
you go,
you’re saved,
you’re damned,
and you?
You go back to your purgatories
and wonder more about morality,
or your lack thereof,
or somehow, go back to your
mild winter
or your social holocaust
and wonder why you or me
or anyone in this world
has more right or more say
because you pray your way
and I pray mine—that is, of course,
if I pray at all.
And I do pray
sometimes . . .
but not always
And how can I?
How can I have faith,
or better—
Why would I have faith?
Why would I see faith in the tired
or the poor, the sick
or how could I find faith
in the dying of a child
who never had the chance to live
or how can I believe
when I look around
and see our society?
We are all crazier now,
more than ever before.
But behold me,
the poor, the weak
the misunderstood and misguided, and behold me,
a man, missing in plain sight and still,
despite the losses, despite the pain,
behold, and I don’t know why,
but somehow, and for some reason, —
I still believe.
Behold, me
persecuted and blamed and guilty,
repenting and repentless
and like you
or like anyone else,
I stand in the hours of the morning’s sun
and see the sky
with hopes that maybe,
today can be different.
I watch the first light, or sit in the quiet moment
when the sun sets,
and once more, the sky goes from light to dark,
and the moon and the stars, they have all been here
long before us and, too,
the moon and the stars will still be here
long after we’ve gone.
Behold me,
the believer in stars and the hopeful one,
a sinner, and while blessed is The Fruit of Thy Womb,
I am a follower, and a straggler, a stray,
and one who followed too many masters — and no,
I am not like the prodigal son,
nor have I returned, or learned my lesson (yet)
but I am on my way,
at least I hope so.
34)
You do know, there is no shame in being honest
or raw –
Right?
It is fine to let go
or to lay down
or to rest our weapons
and say farewell to the fights
that we fought because as they say
eye for an eye, tooth for tooth,
and once more,
figuratively speaking,
I often wonder why I am toothless
and blind all the time.
It is of no consequence to me
to let my day go by
without defending my ground
to which, I own this anyway.
Since this is mine,
no one can take away what I refuse to give them
even if they steal this from me,
they still can’t have it,
or even if they swipe or swindle me,
no one can take me away from me
unless I let them.
It is sunrise now.
I have the blinds partially opened
in the window behind me
and while the sky is not entirely clear,
neither am I,
but no different from the sky, at least I am still here;
right or wrong
at least I dared and
at least I showed up
today.
It is of no consequence to admit that I am wrong
or disagree,
and there is really no harm intended;
however, we live in a world
where everyone is all too offended
and all too often, we seldom realize
that no matter how offended we are,
nothing happens.
Not really.
35)
I am at the end of my rope
and opening myself up
to a new chapter.
Besides,
what else is there?
I never want to be missing in action again,
and as for me, or as for the rest of the world,
and as for my pointless rage;
I have to realize that I am who I am,
you are you, they are they,
and as for the pulse, or the bloodline
and as for the nature of this world,
and as for my intentions, if I intend to let go,
then I have to let go.
Otherwise, I’ll find myself missing in action
again
and losing to pointless anger
and firing the figurative bullets at
the sky, just to win arguments
that never needed to happen.
To tell you the truth . . .
I don’t want to fight anymore.
But I will, if I have to
the only difference now is
the only time I will fight
is when the fight is worth living for.
I think I’ve died enough in this lifetime,
if you know what I mean.
The Written Addiction 