Section 1 –

There are so many different versions of me
which, at this point,
I suppose it’s hard to keep up with all of me –
at least for me it is.

There’s the old me and the younger me.
There’s the new me and the me who I want to become. But then,
there’s the professional version of me
and the unprofessional version too
but then there’s the dreamer and the hopeful version.

Verse 1:

For the record,
I do not condone or support the way “I was”
Or the way I “used to” be.

I laugh about this now.
I can do that because I’ve matured some,
at least a little.
Or, maybe only slightly
but at last,
I have learned to laugh at myself,
at my past,
at the things I did and what I said.

And . . . So . . .
I suppose this might be personal.
Maybe this is too personal,
Then again, what isn’t personal?

What is anything worth if there is no substance
nor earth nor depth nor sound nor meaning
behind the words we chose?

What is anything worth
if we deem it as otherwise worthless?

Then here we are, trying to pretend or trying hard
to play a role or fit the part.
Here were are with a brave face, facing the world,
and standing in the crowd, “As if”
looking to pull the job of someone
who’s supposed to know what to do.

Now, here’s a thought to remember . . .
I know that perhaps I paraphrase
but in each is their own internal strife or struggle,
which means that somewhere,
someone or something has gone wrong
and in the magnificent journey of life unfolding,
we find ourselves at the doorstep of different conclusions.

This can come from anywhere and from anyone.
Our life comes in different shapes and sizes
and whereas one sees something,
another might see something else,
as in entirely.

Sometimes you have to dig down deep
in order to let go.
Sometimes, I feel.
Sometimes, I want.
Sometimes, I wish and sometimes I weep
and oftentimes, I wonder. 

Sometimes I move in circles
to come back and overlap where I began
to see how far I’ve come or to recognize
where I’ve been.

My head smiles at the sight of the winds.
I can find myself here, happily empty without the need to fill
or be fulfilled and instead, or more obscurely,
to be found in the happiness of pure detachment,
as if to be away from the grind, away from the passive/aggressiveness
of our daily office politics or to be away from the hustle
and the need to be “on” as if to mean to be away
from the constant need to keep your cards close to the vest,
to watch your back all the time, or to hide vulnerability,
and to be away from the back and forth arguments-
This is the ultimate destination.

Let’s just call this what it is,
which is life in our head
or a place in the mind which, at times,
can be unrelenting or unmerciful
at best.
Let’s call this what is it . . .
Why not?

Head south, due west, and go . . .
I find myself on the verge of a ramble
which might only be something to me;
however, if this is for me then so be it –

Let this be me and, therefore, if you’d like
I can share this with you so that together,
I can show you a piece of my child at heart –

It was forever ago, it must be.
The younger days, the angst,
the energy and the deep wells of tomorrow
which flowed so deeply and freely
enough that you’d swear
there’d always be enough time for later –
or tomorrow.

We had more to fight in us back then.
We fought harder and with more reason
and more earth to our souls.

I

I hear this certain narration
or a voice from within,
somewhat speaking for me,
telling my story
but, of course, from the heart.

I have these ideas.
They have been with me for as long as time has kept me alive,
which, by today’s account,
I am alive far longer than I realize.
Perhaps I am more than I realize
or better yet,
perhaps you are more than I realize
or maybe we all are . . .
more than we realize

But what did I know
I was only me,
alive and well . . .
at 19