What do you say to someone who saw everything? Yet they were never there. But somehow, they knew, or they saw without seeing, and more, how does the Universe know to cross our paths or how to keep us together, even if we are too stupid to follow the light?
How do people like this exist?
And somehow, they know. They know everything by instinct or perhaps by some kind of divine light, or if their soul is kindred or intended, or if time refuses to cease or desist and the overlapping connection proves to keep a connection that is unbreakable, what do you say as a witness who never saw, but yet, somehow—you just know that the stars want more for us, and still; I wonder what do you say when life turns crazy?
How do you let someone in or let them know who they are or how they make you feel?
I don’t know if I am dying or living or if I am bleeding or this is far too much.
But either way—here I go.
I want to take this moment, right here, and as it is in front of us, and I want to grab hold, as if to embrace the truest meaning of the words, “carpe diem” or seize the day. I want to live life. I want to love. I want to be free and able to be as it is when I dream of myself in an open field, which is a real in my heart and also a real place in my life, which was pertinent to a transformation of mine that began long ago.
I am no longer the person I was, yet no one is. I am not the same as I was when I was a younger man or when I wore the thin skin of someone underdeveloped or delayed, or uneducated, as per life or life’s terms.
I want to distance myself from my rage or the versions of hate which kept me cornered or concealed and hidden. I don’t ever want to be who I was again, as in too petrified that someone might see me—and then they would know and realize that I never learned how to carry a tune or how to dance with the world beneath the meaningful moonlight.
Helpless. I understand this word.
Vulnerable. I understand this word too, as if to be like a child with its truest heart, opened before the laws of nature and humble, modest, uncovered and unprotected. Thus, I realize that I never knew how to dare or where to be safe; and yes, I never knew the freedom of how to be unafraid because the theft of service, and yes, I can attribute this to the threats of evil hands or how they can touch upon the young soul, creasing in the pages of memory, or molested and staining the heart, or in other words, I understand what it means to be poisoned and misaligned with the true factions of what it feels like to be hurt by words, or cut by the truth. Even more, I understand what it means to be damaged in some unfortunate or irreparable way.
This is to you.
Or no, this is for you.
This is a voice for the rage. And this is an outlet or a source of hope. This is a boundless agreement, which is ongoing. From now until the last moment in time, this will always be between us.
I swear it.
This is a testament that abuse comes like wolves in sheep’s clothing, and yes, “behold,” we have been sent out as sheep amongst the wolves, and thus, I am not sure if we are as wise as serpents or as peaceful as doves, nor am I anything close to the purity of the word of God or as the word intends; however, I can understand being a sheep among wolves. I also understand the craft of the serpent and the peacefulness of the dove.
However, I want none of this. I don’t want to have the need to defend myself nor do I want the drive to hold peacefully in unpeaceful times.
No, I want rest. I want freedom. I want the child to step forward and have their moment in the sun.
Do you understand what I am doing here?
Do you know why I have come or why the Universe refuses to let us get away from each other?
I want the child to be free, to play, to laugh, and to rest at the end of the day, cuddled like a dream while curled in the palm of the Holy Mother, Mother Earth.
I want peace.
But please, let me show you something.
Do you see these things?
These are mine. These are the weights of my history. These are the tales and the tragic statements, and these? These things over here are the tiny burdens which accumulate over the years. And this? These are the invisible scars which act like a roadmap and detail the pains and the intrusions.
And this?
This is the line where I fell and here is the cross that I bore and this is the weight of the world, which fell on my chest — and kept me breathless.
I surrender this.
I give all of this up.
I walk away and move, and I go. With all of my heart, I will go and walk, and I will continue until I find my promised land. As for the rest, or as for the unwanted details or the mistruths which I took on and believed as facts, I surrender them too.
I have been at this game for years now. I have been working and looking, pleading and searching, and I have been sleepless and tired and beaten and betrayed, belittled, and I have become jaded, at times, and doubtful as well.
I am openly fearful and more than this, or more than anything else, I have allowed the burdens to accumulate and weigh me down.
I never dared to reach for the sunlight that crept through my window. It seemed to beautiful and too free to be touched by my dirty hands. And so?
Now, I come clean.
I want to breathe. I want to hear the voice of an angel. I want to exhale the unwanted breath and inhale the depths of a brand-new life, opening up, like the scene of a new morning with a new sun.
Good morning . . .
I want to let go and be rid of the weight; only, my steps have changed and so has my awareness.
My intention is not what it was anymore.
I want to enjoy my life. I want to rid myself of the worries of insignificant people, places, and things. I want to be rid of the unnecessary, like the views or the assumptions of outside opinions.
I want to let go of the hate or the hurt and the lies and betrayal of others.
I have been at this for a long time now, keeping secrets, and scribbling them down in tiny notes or in notebooks, and then hiding them away for no one else to see.
I don’t care who sees me now.
I think I need a day to go and to run.
I need a walk down the streets of SoHo or to sit outside, and people watch from a chair in some outdoor café.
I want to reacquaint myself with my reason and my aspiration so that my purpose will never die.
and neither will I (or you).
No one has ever seen the true me.
(Me included)
But I want to change that.
However, now that I am aware, I can see how the hour is later than I think.
And so . .
I refuse to allow the child in me to die alone; and thus, I refuse to douse the light or the spirit which is still bright in my heart.
Go ahead, kid.
It’s your turn to play with the stars now.
I don’t want to hide anymore.
I don’t want to think about the love that broke or the life that lied and above all, I want to stand in the heart of my dream, as in live and on stage. I want to embrace this moment, and with everything I have, I swear that I will never let this go.
I want to hear the voice of an angel.
I want to feel the warmth from her heart.
I want to be unafraid and free.
And I want you to know this, without fear, and I want to share this with you without hiding my words, or keeping them somewhere in a box beneath my bed.
Comfort me with the touch of your hand.
And I?
I will give you everything I have to make sure you never weep alone again.
The Written Addiction 