Being Honest With Fiction

There is a little known truth or fact about me and my life, which of course is true because why else would I tell you?
There is something about me which is as true as anything else in this life. I am more than one person and more than three and more than my own private or personal trinity.
Or to be clear, this is not to compare myself or act is if I am anything close to the divinity of The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit.
I am nothing like this and nor is this a comparison to the personal trinity of mind, body and soul.

I am simply a compilation of dreams, events, mysteries and at times, “I am fortune’s fool,” the same as Romeo was fortune’s fool when he sealed his own fate.
His heart was in the right place.
But Romeo’s fate was elsewhere.

I am as soulful as you or as soulful as the common, everyday person.
I am. I swear.
I am a dreamer who often struggles to disregard the disdainful losses, and I find myself in contempt or somehow distant and lugubrious like the appeal from a gray sky during a tired rainy day.

I am beaten but not destroyed. I am wounded and scarred but not disfigured.
I understand the meaning of solace and further, I am a man who appreciates the sunset and how this allows me to regroup somehow because tomorrow will be another day.

I am equally a dreamer the same as I am romantic.
I am hopeful and hopeless and often helpless.
I am that boy who ran away too often but never had the courage to follow through or dare the road long enough to see if I could make it.

I am a man in search and hunting for the beautiful and healing sensation of art and creation.
Yet, I hide away and I hide behind this computer screen or in notebooks to keep myself safe.
I hide myself in the safety of my daily technology, which are these notes that I keep in my cell phone.
I never dared to take the stage.
I never dared to do one of my biggest dreams.
I never dared tp read this openly an honestly.
No.
Fear and I decided to hide from this.
Fear and I decided to save this dream, like a butterfly encased in glass; never using its wings and never freed, but here it is, sealed, and kept in isolation to keep my dreams alive, in case of an emergency.

I admit to this and to my regret that I never dared and still, the young man in me who lives on the fuel from the adrenaline of defiance is alive and well.
I know he is.
This is the boy who still hopes that one day, my defiance and my outrage will burst through the arteries of my every intention.
And thus –
I will arrive on the scene
to make everything count!

I never had the courage to stand on stage and read my poems or offer my spoken word. I never anteed up enough to endure the quiet in the darkness of a small playhouse.
I never had the nerve to dare the spotlight and speak my words, in fear that I was either too weak, too soft, too whiny, or too underwhelming.
Or too stupid, if I’m being honest.

Perhaps I will never do this.
And maybe I will never dare to stand on the stage.
Maybe I will.
Maybe I won’t.

But there is a truth about me, which I assume that everyone sees but no one knows.
I am still that boy and that small, little child, weak and wishful and wondering if there will ever be a time when the bullies and the fears go away.

There is a truth about me, which is that I am weak and petrified and that I am intimidated.
Yes. this is me.
I am scared as ever, and worried that I will never be good enough or great at anything.
I am afraid to be nothing else, except average or subpar.
And so . .
who would see me as beautiful?
who would want me?
who would love me?
who would find me irresistible?

I think about the feelings in my heart and the emotional content of my soul. I think about my dreams, including the unspoken ones or the frightened ones, and I think about the freedom and the courage to stand in front of the crowd and say something from the heart.
I think about how amazing it is to say something that no one else has ever dared to say/
I want this.

I know what I wrote the first time I saw the most beautiful girl in the world.
of course, in the end and in the long haul; she would have mothing to do with me.

I wrote: “My breath exists on in yours”
These were the first words for my first spoken word, which were never said and never spoken to anyone out loud. 

My breath exists only in yours, it’s true,
and like the breeze
that moves the leaves on the tree
across from my home,
the air moves through me,
and I am here with all that I am
and with all that I am
to either defy this or endure
or enjoy the moment as if this
was the very first sunrise of the rest of my life.

My heart is pure
my hands are dirty
my hope is silenced
like a child, locked away
and my body is grown
but the boy in my heart
is still dreaming and still alive.

I have never seen anything as brilliant as you
except for the sun, which I see how your shadows
contrast the light in such a way
that proves to me
even the sunlight
fails in comparison

My breath exists only in yours
Which is the same as how the sun
becomes the moon
and then the moon becomes the sun
again
and so this goes on from one day to the next

And I, seeking vision
look upwards at the starlight
with a humbled resignation
as if to prepare myself
for a moment of silence;.
I look to the stars at night
hoping I may
hoping I might . . .

I look upwards
like a son looking up
as if to seek attention from the Mother of God
with hopes that one day
The Great Mother will send her Angels of Mercy
to heal my contempt
and resolve my tragic thinking
in this world or the next.

My breath exists only in yours
which is like a kiss that was sent
and intended by fate
to change my destiny
and lead me to you,
somehow, someway
and one day, one step at a time
I will cross the threshold of your paradise
and be with you,
for life or longer

Blessed Mother
Blessed Father
Angels of Mercy
Hear me

Nothing in this world is as beautiful
as she . . .
No whisper is more comforting
No touch is more healing
No Heaven is more soothing
and no body, be it physical or celestial
Heavenly, or otherwise
no spirit or soul
can cure me
but hers. . .

We are only half
until we find the other half
which makes us complete. 

To you, my love . . .
I say that 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,
fate will pull off its trick
and I will hold you in my arms forever.

Nothing about me is more true than the truth above.
I am no one
Until I am someone
To you~