1)
What would I say
if I could say anything at all
that is, and so, I wonder what could I say
that would make a difference?
Or at minimum
what would I tell you
if I could tell you something
that would wipe away
the sorry yesterdays
or clear the cobwebs of our cowardly secrets?
Or at best,
if possible, and if I could
what would I do to solve the aftermath
of our so-called tomorrows
which have not begun yet?
— and yet
somehow, the idea of what’s to come
has become true to life
before the day’s even begun
leaving our frightened predictions
to grow into this
insurmountable idea
that’s not even real—or at least
it’s not become real
“not yet”
I can see how projection kills us
or euthanizes our dreams
to put hope
out of its misery.
However,
I know that I would much rather
keep my hope alive.
What would I do
to stop the movie from playing in your head
and keep the Greek tragedies
to a minimum?
How can I shrink your fears
instead of growing them like a mountain,
unmovable, or unstoppable beyond any means
and unavoidable, and yet, again
I can assure you that
none of the problems are real
except in your head
and nothing bad has happened
(yet)
If I could do anything for you,
as in anything at all;
I would save you from the sins
of your world
and steal your pain,
erase the sickness,
solve the emotional virus
burn the rejection to the ground
and take away the aches, but I . . .
I am only human or, at best,
I am just a man, of course.
My blood can only run
so deep.
But my love for you
expands wider than the horizon
and spans farther
than the Universe itself.
If I could, I would.
And I have said this to you before
and so,
perhaps I will rest my case here
so that my promise to you
is not just documented –
but now this is stated
and announced
and my love for you is confessed in a way
that no one can ever change it.
I say this now and out loud
for the souls and the spirits to hear;
and, insomuch as I would love
to wear the weight from your soul
I worry that my legs might break
beneath the weight of my world
and so . . .
who would I be to you then?
How would I seem
if nothing else but only human?
How could I apply for you
or your trust and your love
if I am nothing more
than common, or as basic
as anyone else. . .
I would like you to know something
and more than anything else
I want you to know that I listen to you.
I hear what you tell me
I see the sights and the signs above,
and I notice the tiny reminders
which always bring me back to you.
I want you to know that
when the heaven settles
and the sun goes down
I see you at your moments
before the hour of your rest.
I see the look on your face
or notice how you regard
the chores you have,
or the things that took place
and the next steps ahead of you
which, again, appear to be growing
and insurmountable
and gaining speed.
I see this.
I see the wrongs and the pain
and the need to shout at the sky
and scream—
Dear God, please
just give me a break!
Just one . . .
(right?)
I think of you and the way
you see yourself
as if to be unaware of your own beauty
which is a crime
and an insult to the angels
who fail in comparison
to you.
You lose sight of yourself
or you seem to look
as if to see yourself
in some inaccurate way.
And yes,
this hurts me
You
are not flawed
not at all
and not by any means.
Nothing in the world
could possibly compare
nor could anyone compare to you
and what’s more –
I will not allow you to accept any type
of comparisons
because it has taken me decades to learn this
but at last, I have learned
that our fragile comparisons
do nothing else
but deter us from our truth.
And trust me.
Believe me that no matter who I am
(to you)
or whether I am here or gone,
or elsewhere in the universe,
everything I have said about you
is true.
What would I do, though?
What would I say,
if I could say anything?
Or what would I tell you
if allowed to say anything to cure the pain,
you mean?
I would take away the weakness
that stems from your imperfect assumptions
and I would introduce you
to whom I see . . .
that is, of course,
when I look or see
or speak with you
or dream
I would show you the reflection
I wish you could have
when you see yourself
in my eyes,
and, if I could
I would reflect your worth
which is more worthy
than you have ever assumed
because this,
as it pertains to you . . .
I have to say that in all my life,
I have never seen anyone
as brilliant, or beautiful
or as amazing
as you.
2)
I was little (once)
and brave enough to believe in things
like, say,
the man on the moon
or in other words.
I remember when it was safe enough
to believe that magic is real.
There are fairy tales
and, yes, life can be likewise
or just the same as we wish
and of course,
dreams both can, do
and will come true.
I was small too,
or smaller than most
and weak in some ways,
and timid or afraid to be ugly
and too afraid to be touched
but petrified to be ignored
or unwanted
Such is life in the eyes of the infant soul
which is our inner memories
about our younger truths.
Yes, they are still alive because they
last longer than the days
of our childhood playgrounds.
These extend further
than, say, growing up on Merrick Avenue
or playing in the playground
by the water tower
next to an elementary school.
Or if I move closer to the heart;
life in the eyes of our infant soul
is alive enough to outlast the days
of the times
we played in our safe space
or ran down Roosevelt Avenue
or anyplace else,
for that matter.
Some nights
I lay on my back and look up
as if I could see through my ceiling
and I breathe, slowly, of course.
I look through my ceiling
as if I can see the stars above
and the moon as well,
and I lay and wish
like we did when we were little.
Or better yet,
I pray like we did
when we were brave enough
to believe in dreams.
I wish I may
I wish I might
have the dream
I dream tonight.
The thing is
and I am sure you fail to realize
or dare to believe this but . . .
I have always dreamed of you.
Always have
and, apparently
I always will.
And so, I leave this up to the stars
and speak from the heart
with no unspoken terms
Dear Fate and Destiny,
Please don’t let the Universe forget about me.
And one more thing,
please be kind because
I’m not sure if I could take another loss,
even if I had to.
Sleep well, my sweetheart.
I love you.
The Written Addiction 