In the beginning
I suppose we all started
with the best of intentions
at least, I can say this is true
in most cases.
Or, so
I hope.
In the beginning
our intentions differed
because, of course
this was
the beginning
and the middle had yet
to occur enough
to spoil our imagination
with realistic outcomes
that were less than
desirable.
But hey . . .
. . . that’s life.
Do not eat with your eyes
said the man who despised waste.
And so, I ate with my soul
and tried to eat everything
on my plate
so I could be whole
or at least,
accepted.
But dare I say
and there I go again,
being too abstract
or, wait . . .
Yes, wait
. . . maybe you see me
the way I dreamed you would
and the fact is this:
My abstract position
is designed
to be beautiful
but you prefer “pretty”
which is less than
what I want to be
or maybe for you
being pretty is something that’s
“good enough,”
and I want something more.
much more
There was a time
when I was young
and all of my recent aftermaths
were unlived.
All of what I had seen
had yet to be known
because they had yet to be lived
and see daylight.
again
this is life
In the beginning
I felt a certain way about the city.
I appreciated how the streetlamps
cast a special light on the strange,
or the so-called “different.”
And maybe that was me.
You know?
Or what’s better,
I appreciated the differences
because to me
the best representation of my city
comes from our Lady in the Harbor,
who has stood tall for centuries
or dare I call her, Mrs. Liberty
who wears the green robe
that covers over her copper.
She is oxidized
after years at the port
and offering her thoughts
of, “Give me your tired and your poor
your huddled masses,
yearning to breathe free”
I love that
and I still love her –
my love, despite our differences
and my city,
despite her changes.
However, in the beginning
my love for the city was more
than the the flash of sexy lights.
To me, she was more
than the rush of murderous taxi cabs
swerving through streets
to make their fares.
I loved her for more reasons
than the high-heeled luxuries
of revealed flesh,
soaking the
from someone like me
a young man who lived
on the other side of bridges
and tunnels.
I admit the flash and the rush
to come to the city
was enough to tease me
so of course,
I came here
with hopes that maybe
one day
I could be cool too.
(Maybe)
I don’t know . . .
. . . I don’t know
if I have ever been cool.
I know that I do not know
how people work
or live
or assume
and so,
I have been told
that me being me
created expectations; whereas,
it seems that people forget
that other people
are as they are
and so am I, —flawed,
of course.
And so to me
I am
as I am
and so,
this is who I will always be
as in
eternal
or eternally
to which I know . . .
Perhaps I have always known
that I should be eternally grateful
for me to be as I am, —as in
yes, I have ten fingers,
ten toes,
eyes, ears, mouth and nose
which all work as well as they can
providing the fact that yes;
I have aged.
and yes, my body does not respond
the way it used to
But then again,
let me ask you
does anybody respond anymore?
(the way they used to)
In the beginning
children
are supposedly free; as in
free to or laugh or dance
depending
upon their choice of music
of course
or their rhythm, that is
if they have one –
A rhythm
I mean.
In the beginning
the classroom entities
begin to spoil the youthful
“modus operandi”
with the fact that status and popularity
can blur the lines of what it means
to be authentic
or pure.
And I?
I was young once too
of course.
Or maybe I was young
more than once
or perhaps I was young more than twice;
and yes, just like most men
who have aged,
of course it would be nice to be young again
It would be nice to see the city
the same as I did
when I was young enough
to live before the aftermath
and free enough to think
and seek a better life with of course;
the best of intentions.
In the beginning
it is
the beginning
My patience is not my virtue
and so I wonder about my virtues
or if I am virtuous
at all.
I am selfish,
perhaps
or maybe I have forgotten
little things
like the joy behind
the itsy bitsy spider
who crawled up
the waterspout,
—and yes,
down came the rain
and washed the spider out.
and then,
out came the sun
and dried up
all the rain
so the itsy bitsy spider
could crawl up the spout again.
See, I was too young
to see the meaning behind
the kind of recovery it takes
to realize the skies
cannot rain forever
and so,
I have to realize that life
cannot and will not
keep me down
forever.
If I have to learn,
first and foremost
then first and foremost;
I have to learn to remove myself
from the impending dooms
or better
I have to remove myself from the ideas
that the rains from my past
are too much for me to rebuild
or repair
or dry out,
when the sun comes back.
There is no la
That says we have to be okay
and nor is there a law
that says we have to be miserable
because, of course;
misery does love company
and then again
so does joy.
In the beginning
it was only the beginning
and so
I had no way of knowing
which way to go
what to do
what to say
or how I should respond
to our subtle disappointments
that rained on my parade.
Is this thing on?
said the man
to an unknown microphone
speaking about his dreams
and infinite hypocrisies
and how he realizes
he was his own worst enemy
once. And he too
violated the unthinkable laws
of deceit and betrayal.
I have received letters
which began with the words,
“We regret to inform you”
and, thus,
all of these letters continued
with the rest of the “cookie-cutter” sayings,
which are all the same to me
and so, I assume this language
could be cut and pasted
to any kind of rejection letter
—and hence, yes
I know
I have been rejected.
I suppose this happens to the best of us
and the worst
as well.
In the beginning
yes, I suppose we get into
“the things” we do
with the best of intentions.
Of course.
But intentions need to be nurtured,
the same as warmth for the hand
or heat from the soul need to cared for
because, otherwise
intentions can fade
or sour
or sink into the murky waters
of our shallow disappointments.
And then what?
I go back to my first position
which comes from my first poem
which is
if I listen, I can hear you in my thoughts
and if I look
I can see you in my dreams
and on the movie screens behind
the walls of my eyelids—
But my only hope is
that one day soon
I will hold you in my arms
forever~
Nothing has changed for me.
no . . .
not since the beginning,
and not since my intentions
were made clear to me
by my life on life’s terms.
I had to learn
the hard way
Nothing has changed
I am still me, still tired, poor
and no different
from the huddled masses
yearning
to breathe free;
I want to breathe free too
excessively~
The Written Addiction 