I am . . .
I am someone who sees
or at least
I think I do.
I am someone who knows,
or as life has proven to me,
repeatedly, and more than once
I don’t know half as much
as I thought,
or at least, so I think.
Maybe I think too much,
for my own sake.
Or maybe,
should I say
maybe I think too much
for my own sanity?
Yes. I think so too.
This feels good to me,
this thing between us.
So then,
perhaps for the sake of sanity,
I should realize who I am,
and where I’ve been,
as opposed to who I was
and where I will never be
or who I will never be again.
Therefore,
I am . . .
I am that one, that kid,
that man, or that so-called statistic.
I am that one who lives quietly,
but out loud and in your face
for a reason because it’s safer to be this way –
loud and on the defense.
But in all fairness,
I have been on the fence about this
for longer than you
or anyone else
could possibly imagine.
I am . . .
I am man, hear me roar,
and yes, I am human
or at least,
so I have been told.
However I am sure there are different opinions
and, of course; opinions vary.
I am weary.
I am still going, moving,
learning and more and more,
I am adapting to the landscape
and adjusting to the atmosphere
around me, which can be exhausting
if I’m being honest.
I am evolving from my truths
to make myself great again.
Or maybe I am great
But who knows because optics
are everything,
right?
I am that confused traveler,
who has been lost in the same place,
over and over again. Yet,
I’m fine. No, really.
I’m okay
because I’ve been here before –
more than once
and perhaps I will be here again
more than once
until one day
I learn to get it right.
I see them,
the youth, the future.
I see the unresolved
and the unanswered questions
which I had, even way back when.
I see my path and the struggle
and the scars which dug deep
because yes, absolutely;
I was that kid.
I was that student
who slipped through the cracks
who sought shelter
who isolated in plain sight
and, of course, I was that kid
who lived out loud and wondered,
how come it seems like
no one hears me.
So, instead—
I showed them.
I was that boy, and next,
I became that kid
who became that young, defiant one
but back then,
we did not have what they call
the DSM 5 – TR
which stands for
the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual,
or Mental Health Disorders, 5th Edition,
Text Revision.
Fuck that book!
Come to me
I’ll show you sickness
and yes,
I can share my hope
or my story of recovery.
But I am no better
nor worse
I am just me.
And that’s all that I am.
I am . . .
I am that one
who wanted to disappear, or to vanish,
which is not to say this hurtfully
or least of all, violently.
No.
I wanted this
in the least intrusive way possible,
as if to be neutral, or agnostic
and either lean in nor out
but simply absent, as if to never exist
or as if to be unobjectionable,
like the discharge of a car
after speeding away
and it’s gone.
I remember being that boy, that kid
who could hardly read
or that one
who struggled in the classroom
because nothing made sense to me
or nothing came easily
and so, or thus,
I believed that I was the weaker of the species
or that I was the diseased,
or the infected, and that somehow,
I was a mark or an otherwise sign
or symbol of an unkind theory
and so,
I swore
it would be better
if I could simply disappear.
I know who you are.
At the same time,
I know nothing about you,
or anyone else,
for that matter.
I saw that girl again.
We talked this time.
me from a seat,
and her from her wheelchair.
We talked like humans do
and not like two different species
or like two different children
with one from a lesser
or two different gods.
I saw a young girl yesterday
and noticed her semicolon tattoo.
I noticed
asked
and then I remarked, “me too,”
and she started to cry.
There are no accidents.
I saw her for a reason
and we both agreed—
she was having a bad day and perhaps
on her way home
to disappear as well.
“You are stronger than I ever was,” I said.
and she always will be,
or at least —
so, I hope.
And you—
yes, you.
You have taken something from me.
You have replaced the divots
Yet; I am empty now
or perhaps this is only because I am alone,
or that I am not with you
or next to you,
nor can I be
(for now).
Yes. Most definitely.
You have taken over my heart
and yes, I am weak. I am not tough
or strong.
And yes.
I am . . .
I am that one
I am that one rarity
who lived
and survived,
and even despite my own poor intentions;
I am that one
who lives like this,
this way, hoping
wishing and waiting for my place in the sun
to open up
and let me in.
I am . . .
and like The Son,
I am looking to find
my place in the kingdom,
kneeling hopefully in the sight
of the Father
and praying for my right to find my place,
that is,
if I deserve this
or you.
I made you a promise
and I will keep it
because good or bad
right or wrong
crazy or otherwise;
I am all yours
and as such,
I am the one who wants the assignment
to be the one
I want to be the man
who you look upon and say, “See him?”
yes, him, meaning me
and then you say, “he is the love of my life,”
as in
for life,
or longer,
forever
And then I will be
more
than “I am”
I will be, “I am”
with you.
I’m going to marry you one day.
eyes like the moonlit sky
and a heart like an angel on earth,
at least to me
(you are)
I am going to be with you
for always
that is, if you’ll have me.
I promise.
The Written Addiction 