102)
Nothing is what it used to be,
then again
maybe nothing is supposed to be
what it used to be
because nothing would be
what it’s supposed to be now,
if it was
and, so,
maybe now is just a time
or a moment of awareness, as in
today is just like another session
in the school
which we call life.
Maybe the signs we see today
were there yesterday too, which
in all fairness, more than likely
the signs we see now
were always there
but now
the difference is our eyes have opened
wide enough
and our mind has opened
wide enough
and thus
we see the signs
we overlooked.
And in the end
all this means
is we were crazy
this whole time
and that, yes,
we should have held on
a little tighter
and for a little longer
and maybe then
our lives would be different.
I can say that, yes,
we all live with blinders on
at least once
or twice,
and then hindsight comes along
and pulls a trick
and so, we see where we said
or did the wrong thing
or, more accurately,
we find ourselves aware
that we had more in store for ourselves
and we had more than we realized
before a time came along
and we lost what was ours
to find that what we had
isn’t ours
anymore . . .
and Goddammit
I just don’t want that to happen to me –
not again.
Wake up, because
the world can pass you by
and looking elsewhere
or worrying about the worst
can do nothing else
but materialize in the worst way possible
otherwise known as
creating the self-fulfilled prophecy,
and proving yourself right
when you wish you were wrong
and happy.
103)
I think of places I used to see,
which are far from the same,
and look far different
from what they looked like.
I think back to when 277 Merrick Avenue
looked like home to me, and now?
The house just looks like someplace
I used to be.
I remember a morning drive
at a time
when I returned home
or came back, so-to-speak,
to the old neighborhood
or came to a full circle,
and I remember driving through
the town
and nothing looked the same.
However,
there was something there for me
a layer, perhaps,
or a secret, or like coming home
to an old Mother’s place
where the table is set
and an old version of Mom
places down a plate of food
as if to say,
it’s okay, son.
You will always have a home
and
you are always welcome
here.
I drove through the streets of my youth
and I passed the places
that remembered me
with a breath of anonymity—and yes
I saw where I hid
during my outrageous youth
and I remembered my rebellions
and my so-called battles
and yes, I remembered where I was
for my first kiss
or where I lost my virginity
which is not to say
that it was lost, per se,
but it was no longer mine to have
that’s for sure.
I remember this
because I was a young man then.
I was much younger then.
I never knew love,
or what love is
or how love should be, nor
did I understand that love is living
and breathing
and that love is far more than physical,
but love is equally spiritual
equally emotional,
and that love is equally a trinity
as in love is of the mind, body
and soul; however, to dive this deep
or to divulge this much
and be this vulnerable
always led me to the fear
of what if I do
and what if I give
and what if I share,
or what if I expose myself
and strip down to the least covered
version of me — and then what?
What if I give
and nothing is returned
or what if I love
only to find out
that my love
is not enough?
And thus,
what if I do, or try
only to find that my love is less
or just tainted,
or that my love is otherwise
unworthy – or
what if I put it all out there
and what would I do
if my love comes back, returned,
or unwanted?
I shake my head at this
and I shake the child within
and more, I explain (to him)
we have left the playgrounds
and the places where the bullies
used to be.
I shake my head
and tell the child
there has always been love for you,
always,
and here she’s been
all these years
and here she is,
remembering –
Don’t turn away, son
it will never be too late
until one day
it is . . .
too late
104)
I suppose what I love most
about nostalgia
is the way my nostalgia
revolves around my youth
to keep me young
and alive
again
I suppose what I love most about you
is the way you remind me
of how I was wild
and I still can be,
and like the dogs who are pent up
in kennels
or like the dogs who went lost
and found themselves
in the pound
or the shelter,
there is a fear of mine
to which I realize that
this, above all things,
is one of my worst fears –
To be behind a fence
to have no home
to have nothing but a blanket
and the cold cement
and to have no one
to come home to
or no one to come home to me.
This is my biggest fear.
105)
I am the current version
of a movie from my youth
to which I am certain
that while I will never find myself
in Windrixville
or find myself in a burning church,
up on Jay Mountain
like the one S.E. Hinton
talks about in The Outsiders,
I can say with all certainty,
that I can relate to the need
to run away
or to have the need
to see the sunset
from the north side of town,
and regardless to the times
or the trails I face,
I can still relate this to the feeling of love.
By the way, I have to agree
with the poem by Robert Frost
Nature’s first green
is gold. . .
Her hardest hue to hold.
My early leaf
is no longer a flower,
or at least, this is a response
to how the poem reads . . .
but with all of my heart,
and as the sunsets
the way it does
from my side of town—I am alive
and well
and while the rumbles of my youth
are gone, but not forgotten
you are always going to be
the “Cherry Valance”
of my life . . .
And while times change
and places change too
nothing in the world
can change you
or who you are
to me.
Not now.
not ever—
I promise.
The Written Addiction 