No matter what,
I don’t care what is said after this
but this has to be said
and yes
this has to be said
by me
and yes this has to be said by me,
now.
1)
I come with no excuses
and to be clear,
explanations
are not the same as excuses.
I can say things like hey
please excuse me at any time,
or, if I was brave enough to be honest
perhaps I could show
some of my wounds
or maybe we can compare scars
to find out that, at best,
we are not so different
or what’s more
at best we are both
just human.
They come in waves now.
Emotion . . .
I was always afraid of these,
and so, I did what I could
to avoid them, my feelings
which is not to say
that I am emotionless
or heartless.
I am neither of them
because, in fairness,
rage is emotion
which covers for fear
to hide our weakness
which masks our pain,
and which makes up
for all the countless times
we did something dirty
or underhanded,
took a shot,
to keep from coming under fire.
I am not sure when
or where they came from.
I don’t know how they came back
or maybe, if anything,
maybe age is waking me up
and telling me to rethink my life
before it gets too late.
In all fairness to myself,
I expose this to uncover
my excuses,
which in light of truth
or the unfairness in love and war;
I humble myself here, today
on this day, and I do this
before the sun
and in front of the light
which comes from
“My Creator.”
I spent much of my life
training myself not to feel
or care or worry about
the different venues of joy
or to be tricked
by the inspiration of hope.
Do not look at
all that glimmers,
it is not gold
or real.
I avoided these things
much like the plague
because I had to.
I did this because to feel makes things real
and if my feelings were real
than my fears would also be real.
Hence, why allow myself
to find comfort
when all else in life
can be subject to change?
Life can switch,
the poles can reverse
at any given moment,
and what’s more
it’s not the joy that scared me.
It was not peace that frightened me
at all.
No.
It was the unarmed and vulnerable worry
of being taken off-guard
or to come under fire
and be hit by the betrayal
which disarmed the steel in my spine
and confused me with a smile.
I was never afraid to feel joy
or love, or to find myself
in the bliss of one’s heart
yet . . .
No.
It was the absence of joy
or the return to the ground.
It was the aftermath
or being weak
or the heartache
after feeling the loftiness of touch.
I was not afraid to feel the benefit
of touch,
but then what?
What do I do next
or what happens
if or when the touch goes away?
Or what happens
when joy is only momentary?
What do I do
if the person who delivered this joy
looks a me like I’m crazy and says
“sorry,
but I am not for you . . .”
Or worse
what if I give in
and surrender
and what do I do
if I walk the line
and lay down my arms
only to be pulverized
but the fact that none of it
was even real . . .
or more to the point
my biggest fear is not just
that I might not get the joke
but –
what do I do when I find out
that I am the punchline (again)
and how do I take it
when I find out
the joke is on me?
How can I withstand the attack
of thinking that I was beautiful
only to learn that the delivery was a lie
and I am anything but
beautiful?
I am not afraid
to feel the joy of peace
or the calmness of rest.
But yes,
it is not only brave to believe
but more so,
it is heroic to surrender
to this kind of faith.
it is heroic to believe
that somewhere, out there
true love
has always been waiting for me.
And now,
here you are . . .
I admit to this.
I admit that my bravery
was more cowardly,
and, so
rather than come under fire
or suffer punishment of “being the fool”
and whether it was hostile
or friendly fire, I would fire first
and dammit all to hell.
Kill, destroy,
and burn the bridge behind me.
I would detonate and destroy
before you, they, or them
could have anything to say
about me or my demise.
Yes.
I did this.
But as I say often enough
I have lost my way after the bridges I burned
lost their fire.
I am lost.
I have lost way too much
and caused too many casualties
and as I said to you
just moments before
my excuses do not excuse me;
however,
explanations can build understanding,
and understanding can build bridges,
like the ones I had burned in the past.
My apologies mean nothing to some
but my hope is that my heart
will mean everything
to you.
2)
I offer this
without apology –
Here I wait
and there you are, miles away
yet,
I am closer to you and to your heart
than either of us think.
I am not so strong
that I can hold this mask any longer,
nor can my legs carry my secrets
and thus,
I see that my weakness is amazing to me.
Of course,
no one admits to this
but it takes a lot of strength
to be this weak.
I used to train myself not to flinch
or shake or cry
or even wince with pain.
I used to train myself to endure
and act as if pain does not hurt me,
nor could emotions steal me
from my emotionless weapons
guns and all. . .
and yes, I wanted to be more
like a machine, emotionless,
or unattached to the topic
of whether we live or die.
I wanted to feel the rage and the fury
like the way hatred survives
or keeps a soldier alive
in hostile territory.
Or like the old ode
or the adage — shoot first
and ask questions later.
It was years ago.
I know . . .
I was different then
and so was life
and so were my surroundings
and so were the wars
that I fought in my head.
I had seen death before
but not like this.
I remember seeing life
as it vanished from someone’s eyes
and viewing their last
but fatal expression.
I felt nothing.
Not good or bad
but indifferent –
as if the wind could blow
or the sun could shine
and neither would be important to me.
I refused to attach myself to you
or to anyone
or to life, itself
nor could I allow myself the feelings
or the worries of whether life
as it stands
or in the case of ending life.
I could not allow myself the thought
or the concern
if any life were to be extinguished
or in other words
— gone
Yes.
I stole.
I robbed.
I lied.
I have taken, I have hurt and bled.
I have dug myself in deep
and one day,
I understand that I will have to pay
the weight of my karmic debt.
I know that one day
I will have to answer
and someday,
I will stand before “My Creator”
and have to answer the question:
Why?
3)
I see you, old soul
and I hear you whisper
about the inaccuracies that I see
in the mirror.
I know you
more than you think
and so
today,
as you witness the light of life,
or think about your 53rd trip
around the sun, I want you to know
this is from me
to you.
Tell the child that all are gone now
and no one can come
and hurt him again.
Whether the joke was loud or ongoing
or if the joke was on us, or not
well?
It is what it is
and it was what it was.
And, if the joke was on us,
then the joke was on us.
But that was then,
this is now.
The joke is over
and so are the wars
you fought inside your head.
I am fortune’s fool~
was written by Shakespeare and screamed by Romeo
after slaying someone, like a cog
which turns the infected wheel
of self-fulfilled prophecy.
The devil knows us
all too well, I think.
It’s time we let go
and replace what was taken.
“I know this, but there are still enemies
at the gate and their smiles
are frightening to me.”
Then I say
stop feeding them, son.
Step into the light
find peace.
It can hardly hurt worse
than what you
or your self-inflicted scars
have seen throughout your life.
“But I’m scared.”
Me too.
“But what do I do
if the pain comes back?”
I don’t know, son.
I suppose you and I can figure it out
together . . .
“But the what about the demons?”
Don’t worry about them.
The demons are afraid
of the light, remember?
For the light
exposed the darkness
of their deeds.
“I know . . .
. . . but that’s what I’m afraid of”
Don’t be, son.
We are not alone
(anymore).
The Written Addiction 