And This? This Is More

I have always wanted to know what it would be like to be good at something.
I’m not sure if you understand.
And when I say good, I don’t mean good.
I mean really good.
I have listened to poets read their work and thought about what it would be like to be as good as them.
Could I be?
Or am I just below average with hopes that are better than my talents?
Who knows?

I have watched people do their craft and wondered if this was all a case of practice makes perfect.
Or is this something internal? For example, no one could do what Beethoven could do. And no one could do what Mozart could do. And the same could be said about Chopin or the other composers.

I have listened to people debate the G.O.A.T theory, as in the Greatest Of All Time.
I have witnessed people fight about this.
I’ve heard this argument hen it comes to sports or music. I’ve heard this with sports too.
At the same time. . .
I wonder if it’s fair to compare anyone who holds the bar to such a level.

I remember being laughed at by someone when they heard that I was a writer.
I remember being asked if I thought I was going to be the next Shakespeae.
No.
Besides, my time is now. Shakespeare has been dead, gone, and buried for centuries now.
And, so?
I do not want to be the next Frank O’Hara and nor am I looking to be the next Jim Carroll.
I’m not here to reinvent Kerouac or be like Burroughs.
I want to be me and make this beautiful.
But I get it.
beauty is subjective, I suppose.
And that’s fine, as long as I’m not ugly.
or am I?
I suppose this is in the eye of the beholder too.
Right?

At the same time, I am nothing like anyone else. I am not like the great poets.
I grew up differently.
I never told anyone about my thoughts or my dreams.
And why would I?
I was too afraid to let my dreams be known.
I Never told anyone because what happens if I shoot for the stars and miss?
What if I shoot as best as I can and find that I can’t hit the side of a barn?
each and every one of them?
What if I fall on my face and find out that I don’t add up?
Or what if nothing about me is special enough?
Am I so alone with this?
What if this is it and no one will eve love me?
Or what if I am not worthy?

What if I step up to compete and find out that I would have to catch up, just to finish in last place. . .
Then what? 

I have always wanted to be good at something.
I have always wanted to be noticed and noteworthy.
And when I say I’ve always wanted to be good at something; I mean that I want to be amazing.
I want to be better than amazing.
I want to be flawless.

I think of things that are breathtaking and perfect.
I think about things like, say, the sky as it takes on the colors of sunset.
This is beautiful to me.
I think about how the sun goes down in the early months of autumn.
Ah, the sky turns to an orange hue with dashes of purple. I love how this mixes with silvery and powder blue elements in the clouds which linger before the sun goes away.

I de4scribe this because of a memory that I have.
And this is a valid memory too.
This fits my subject and compliments the aspects of my youthful eagerness to find intimacy, love, or lust.
or maybe I wanted all three in whichever form was possible.

I remember a sunset that happened after the first time I spent an afternoon with a girl.
I was in seventh grade.
She never knew how this hurt me
And I doubt she remembers me . . .
It was just the two of us. She and I.
But this did not go well.
I was too uncomfortable and awkward.
But hey, I was a kid and this was my first time at bat.

And yes, I struck out.
I did not know what to say or how to say anything.
But I tried.
This was the first time that I hung around with a girl who was something more than just a friend.
And no, my attempts to kiss her did not make the date better.
I was not happy.
It seemed as if there would never be a match for me.
And I knew I was young. Hey, everyone strikes out, right?
And I knew this was my first shot at romance.
At the same time, my awkwardness and my overthinking caused me to believe that I would never find someone.
I never believed that anyone beautiful who would like me. And if they did like me, they would never like me more than say, for a few days or maybe a week or two.

For the record:
I did not know the girl well.
She came from a different school. She told me that one of her friends told her something mean about me.
Her friend said that I wasn’t someone she should date or hang out with.
And I don’t even know why
Not that she agreed or decided to follow the advice of her friend.
But knowing what was said was enough
She didn’t ask me to leave.
I did ask for a kiss though. . .
She told me she had a headache.

I knew this was the only time I would ever be around her again. 
No.
We never spoke much after this.
She never said she agreed with her friend either..
But what she said was enough to hurt me.
It was enough for me to hear the news, and the news was enough to take away the victory of being liked by a girl.

It was just a quick thing . . .
no big deal.
Right?

I walked home in the early part of Autumn.
I remember . . .
The wind was still carrying some of the leftover warmth from the summertime. But the air had some coolness too, which made the heat less pressing and the breeze more pleasing.
I decided to take a walk in the fields near my house.
I had to do something because the rejection was too much for me.
I watched the colors of sunset. And I remember this well.
I an see this in my mind and I can see this as clearly as I did when I was just a boy.
I was just a kid, hoping that maybe someday, I can find love too.

I never saw the field look that pretty.
The sunset was amazing to me.
The trees were beginning the process of change and readying themselves for an empty winter.
The wind moved gently to shake the branches and colors from the leaves were transforming.
All the leaves were changing from their summery greens to yellow, brown, and red.
I loved how the soft hue of orange came down from the sky and touched the trees.
I grew up in these fields.
This was my playground when I was a boy.
I went here for confessions too when I’d try ad speak to God
Only, I’m not too sure he listened.

I swear, I was only 13 years-old but I can remember the sunset to this day.
I can remember the calm sadness which was more of an accolade to a moment of awareness.

I would not call this sad, per se, and nor would I say that this was a loss of innocence.
If anything, I saw this as a moment of awareness and an idea that status is important.
It’s not who you are . . .
It’s who you know . . .
It’s who you hang out with
It’s the empty alleys and parking lots you go to on Friday or Saturday nights.
It’s not who you are . . .
It’s what you can do for people
It’s what you can give people.
It’s how many friends you have.
And if you don’t have money, then you better have looks.
And if you don’t have either, then you better learn how to fight or play the guitar
or something . . .

Your status is defined by where you sit in the cafeteria at lunch.
I swear this is true; and God forbid you find yourself anywhere, aside from the “cool kids” table –
Because if you do, be prepared to slip away in the obscurity of being mediocre or unnoticed at best.

I never wanted to be unnoticed.
I never wanted to be average.
I never asked to be the best looking.
I never asked to be the coolest kid at the table in the lunch room.
I just wanted to be seen and noticed or regarded.
is that too much?
I just wanted someone to care.

At worst, my biggest fear was that I would fall to become that faceless, nameless person who sat in the middle of the lunchroom, friendless, and lifeless as ever, and essentially I would be unobjectionable, or the same as one of the leaves that fell from a tree in autumn

In fairness, I have always wanted to be in love.
I’ve always wanted to belong to someone.
I’ve always been too afraid that someone is going to come along and ruin this for me.
And, so, in turn –
I self-sabotaged and ruined this for myself.

I’ve always wanted to feel that unbreakable solace of purity and understand the bittersweetness of love and meaningful intimacy.
I could have been fine to be a romantic.
I’d have been fine to be hopeless one too or hopeful
Either one . . .

I could have been fine to be with one person my entire life.
I would have been fine, if it were this way.
But it wasn’t.

And I could have been like this, no matter what anyone said about “my love” or my girl because had I been born with the courage to love wholeheartedly, then I would have found you when I was a child.
I would have looked to rescue you, long ago, and I would have told you “We have to stick together now” and I’d have told you, “because the world is an unfair place without you!”

In fairness, had I been born brave, then I would have grabbed you and held on to you with everything I have.

But no
I was so afraid . . .
I was afraid to be rejected.
I was afraid that my body was not good or that my size was not adequate or enough.

I was afraid that maybe I was a bad kisser.
Maybe I had no idea what I was doing.
Maybe I could try hard, Or maybe I could try as hard as possible
but then what?
Maybe I could write poems until my fingers bled, but what would be the sense?
What would be the sense if I was ugly
Or worse –
What would be the sense if I was no better than one of the faceless or the nameless souls who goes to their 25 year reunion and no one remembers them at all.

I saw myself this way.
Always.

Getting back to that walk . .
I had yet to do anything more than kiss a girl.
But I wanted more.
Maybe there were a few chances that my hand roamed up a girl’s shirt
And maybe I found someone who allowed me to grab a feel over her bra. 

But that was it.

I have always wondered what it would be like to be beautiful.
Or what would it be like to be noticed?
What would I be like if I was cool?

What would it feel like to stand out above the obvious and in my own estimation, what would it be like to be seen?
And for the record, when I say seen, I mean truly noticed.
I mean “seen” as in completely. And admired, as in totally.

I have always wondered what the odds are with things like this coming true.
And somehow, I wondered what it would be like.
What would I do?
How would I handle something like this?
I wanted to be seen.
I wanted to be discovered.
I wanted to be remarkable.
But how?
No one ever loved me like this.
No one . . .

I was thinking about you last night.
I was thinking about the ideas that get my blood moving.
And yes, my feelings have not changed nor has my decision overturned.
I was thinking of you or how someone’s beauty can soothe the savage beast.

I have never seen a face like yours.
It is obvious to me that there is no equal.
But I digress again.
And I go off too often.
But let me get back to where I need to be
(for now)

I know that fate and destiny make changes as we go along.
At least, I believe so.

I believe in the miracle that somehow, one person in this world can deliver a message; and suddenly, all is right with the world.

I do believe that beauty can cure the worst sicknesses.
And same as this goes in one direction; I agree that the lack thereof or the absence of your love can cause a death that rivals the worst of all cancers

I think the right person can change the world for me.
I believe the right girl can change everything.
(Because you did)

It takes someone special to do this.
You know?
And yet, it takes a special soul to receive this as well.
Two people, like us
special as ever.
It takes two because we are often the object that stands in our own way.
(You know?)

We often overthink or pause or stall when in fact, the right thing to do is the only thing to do.
And that is to grab the love of your life and kiss them like there is no tomorrow.

I got a little emotional last night.
I watched a team win a gold medal in the Olympics.
And this was great!
Of course, there was an obvious bias on my side because the team was Team USA.
And I being a true American, of course, I have a vested interest in seeing my team win.

Team USA has not won the gold medal in hockey since 1980.
But they pulled it off this year.
What a trick!

The game went into overtime.
I couldn’t believe it.
To be fair, I cannot call myself a hockey fan per se.
I do not know much about the sport.
But I viewed this with a different level of intensity.
Or, so I suppose.

 I watched the winning shot slip by the Canadian goalie.
Score!

“USA WINS THE GOLD!” said the announcer

I cheered for them. . .

Team USA celebrated and cleared the bench.
All of them mauled one another and celebrated like madmen.
This was great.
It was beautiful
I swear

I don’t know what it was.
I have no idea why I choked up.
I don’t know why this hit me.
I just . . .
I just don’t know,
But I started to cry.

I’ve never experienced a victory so great or so big.
I can’t say that my life is winless or that I have more defeats than victories.
No, I guess this is something different though.
I am not the G.O.A.T. at anything

I looked back at some of my accomplishments.
I thought about the emptiness of my hollow life and the vacant shell of having memories but no one to share them with.
What a loss . . .

What’s the point?

I thought about the beauty of that sunset and the girl that told me her friend said not to go out with me.
I heard this was because her friend said I was ugly.
Or maybe I wasn’t cool enough and at best, I could only enjoy a modest chance at being with a girl who was otherwise ugly or unremarkable.

I sit here across from my computer screen.
I think about the content of the last few years.
I think about the emptiness of my bed or the soulless feeling I get when I come home to an empty place.
There’s no one else here but my bird, Popeye.
He’s a good boy.

Otherwise, I talk to myself to keep me company.
I remind myself that I know there are a few tricks to pull.
I know that one day, somehow, all of this is going to be behind me.

I have always wanted to have an “us” or a “we” and feel as if I am perfectly matched and together with you.
And I know the time is not right.
And I know all the things that stand in our way.

But I go back to my very first poem again –

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 I only hope
that one day soon –
I can hold you in my arms

Forever~

If I’m being honest, I don’t need to win a gold medal.
I just need you
And then
I will have everything I need

I swear