1)
And you start to wonder who isn’t who
and who isn’t real
and then you start to ask yourself
and you think even more . . .
then you rethink about who told you
they “were there” of how they were on your side
and next, you realize who it was
and how they were never who they said they were.
I swear the perfection of hindsight
is incredible. I swear that hindsight
is often enlightening, and sometimes punishing.
But hindsight is always necessary
because once you know, at least,
you know
I mean . . .
It would be silly of us
to plead ignorance to the same crime again.
Right?
2)
An old man told me
never let someone
waste your time twice.
I wondered about this and yes
I inquired.
He reassured me with another saying –
He told me,
“the first time someone hurts you
or plays you
or the first time something awful
or painful happens, I can say hey
shame on them.
The second time, I can only say hey . . .
shame on me.
The kind old man was scared
because his lifelong battles
wounded him deeper
than the deepest river.
Knives were still in his spine
as he explained,
people like playing the victim
rather than realizing
their place in the game.
Perhaps this is why I wrote the line
I wrote long ago,
which is, “oftentimes, there are no victims.
Only volunteers.”
So, don;t give them a target, son.
3)
Speaking of,
I never had a son.
Then again,
I am not sure I ever really had a Father.
He died when I was young
And he died when I was not well
Or perhaps neither was he . .
Well, I mean.
I was too far gone and he?
He was too unreachable to me.
Or so it seemed.
He was on his side
I was on my side
and neither he nor I
knew how to meet in the middle.
To hell with my young rebellions.
I died too much in those wars.
So much so
that I failed to grow
without being misled by misperceptions,
which confused me or led me astray.
That boy is long gone
And now, I am only the man
who wears his scars,
from now until the hour of my death
Amen ~
4)
I think this was a time in my life
when the catalyst
was a moment of clarity
and my crash course in reality
woke me up enough
to see that the double-edged sword
will always cut both ways
I remember the day I split
and left an old scene.
I was at a place Upstate
and far away from the real world.
I was far from where I was
But also, I was gaining speed
and moving farther from who I was
and getting further away from a social cancer
and an emotional virus
that was alive and well and killing people,
long before Fentanyl was around.
I remember saying goodbye
to a so-called fellowship of similar people
who were all like-minded
and different in their own regard.
I did my time and stayed an extra week,
due to a trip to an emergency room
because of an attempt to die,
which saved my life, if that makes sense.
I remember talking to my fellow patients
or inmates,
depending upon who you asked.
We were all going back and forth
about how crazy it is to just meet someone
and somehow, you know everything about them
and they know about you.
I lived with people who I hardly knew
and recently met and yet,
somehow, we went through a war together.
We went on a 28-day vacation
at a place similar to the flight deck
in a mental hospital.
Only, the crazies here were more agreeable
and voluntary. At least
to some degree.
Besides, the other flight decks
are usually locked wards
and the wardens wear white coats
and they arm themselves
with clipboards and pens which, to us
these were their weapons
of mass destruction
I tell you
there were more arrivals than departures
in this kind of flight deck,
and the only flights into the friendly sky
are the medicated kind
with an infamous flight attendant
known to the passengers
as the famous Thorazine.
But wait . . .
I digress . . .
I was leaving. Never to return.
I was out and sure
everyone swears
how they’ll all keep in touch,
and maybe you do,
for a week or two.
It’s not like you don’t mean
what you say to each other
or you don’t say what you mean.
You do
But sooner or later,
real life picks up speed
and all the lessons you learned
and the closeness you felt
sort of vanish
because there you are,
“back in the real world!”
and reality itself is crazy enough,
let alone too crazy to face it sober.
5)
I am one of only a few who held on,
kinda.
Too many of my old friends
are gone now. Or to be more specific,
no one is actually gone,
per se.
Everyone knows where they are
but where they are
is otherwise unreachable to us
who remain “in the flesh.”
Mike the Rocket was pushing up junk
and caught a bad shot.
He died years before I found out
That hurt.
Jimmy died but I never knew why.
And the man of all men to me
and the man who put his arm around me
and the one who saved me
is the same man who died
from the same kind of death
that actually saved my life
(if that makes sense)
His name is Mathias.
Can you hear that?
Even his name is still strong to me.
I still miss him
6)
I suppose now is as good a time as any
to find a new habit or start a new journey.
Maybe now is the best time
to find some time for myself
Maybe I can split or leave
this whole crazy scene.
Maybe . . .
Maybe I can leave the trash
and all the unwanted
or my regrettable yesterdays behind me.
Maybe now is just a moment
where I am seeing things as they are.
Or maybe this is a moment of awareness
or a time for clarity.
Perhaps I am in-between
the in and out and like my breathing,
now is nothing more
than a moment of stillness.
And if this is so,
then I can do one of two things.
I can use this moment to my advantage
and see this as a moment of inspiration
to fight back or to move ahead.
Or, I can close my eyes
and live like I can’t see.
I can plead ignorance to the same thing
and stay behind
and volunteer to be another victim
(again)
7)
I never dared to show this side of me to anyone
Soft
Gentle
Young
Hopeful
I am of course,
a dreamer nonetheless
and nevertheless,
if less is more than give me more
of the lesser between two evils.
To go and to be
To live and learn
To love until I die, and to do this
without question, without regret,
and more than anything,
to do all of the above
without settling for anything less
then yes
Less would be more in this case
8)
I saw two young people on the train yesterday.
They were uddling one another
and holding each other closely
No words
No heavy petting or kissing.
Nothing overly said or done
Just holding each other
Just love
Both of them
Happy
I envied and admired them both
and I did this more
than I would ever dare to share
or tell you because
no matter how old I am
or how old they are,
I want what they have and finally,
I am willing to go to any lengths
to have it
The girl had to get off at a different stop
They kissed each other goodbye and smiled
Ah, young love.
9)
And unbeknownst to the rose,
its thorns have taken its share of blood
and as such, its protection
pierced the flesh more than once
and this happened
to more than one person
Unbeknownst to the flower, its beauty
had no idea
that something beneath its grace
was sharp enough to inflict pain
and hurt someone else.
Unbeknownst to me,
I was chasing something beautiful
bleeding badly,
but the thorns dug in so deep
that by the time I got close enough
and smelled the rose, the petals died
and I . . .
I sat there like a fool and foolishly
wondered if this was a case of me against me
Or “I against I.”
I never knew about the damage I inflicted
or if anything at all. All I knew
was the question I asked myself which was,
“why was I always the common denominator?”
I got this from someone else too
The question, that is . . .
Perhaps I should stop volunteering myself
For things like this.
Perhaps I should split and decide
not to be part of the equation.
Maybe then
I can be whole
instead of a fraction of who I want to be
Stay out of your own way, son . . .
The Lord knows your trails
are enough to put the world on notice
But The Lord also knows
how capable you are
Perhaps this is why
he has more faith than you do in Him . . .
And so I go
I’m about to split the scene again
But don’t worry
your prince knows where his kingdom is
and hence,
this is why I get up in the morning
And this is why I will never leave you
even if you leave me
Now see?
This is something
worth volunteering for
At least
to me
I never had a son
I never had a Father, really
I wish
I had both
Know what I mean?
The Written Addiction 