The problem with being a divorced parent is the things we miss, like saying goodnight, or seeing your child come home from school. I suppose the earlier years were hardest for me. But now, I must have blinked and my little girl who used to speak in her little voice and hold things in her tiny hands is now ten years-old. She is not so little anymore.

I need to work in order to keep the things I have. I need to pay bills, and buy things, like food and clothes. I need to turn on lights in my home; I need to heat it in the winter and cool it in the summer.
In order to keep my neck above the waterline, I need to take extra hours at work because without overtime, the waterline rises, and there is no fear worse than the fear of being under water.
The problem with being a divorced dad is the things I missed like the recitals, or picking up my daughter at say, gymnastics.  And the problem with working long hours is the missed opportunities on an already limited schedule.  And now she is older. Now she goes to sleep away camp…… Continue reading →

After the bruises heal, the scars begin to form, and then they turn deeper, which is worse, because there are no scars deeper than the ones in your mind.
These are the deep cuts. They are the ones sliced by words.
They are the cuts of our uncontrollable outcomes.

These are the wounds that keep us from moving forward and steal our freedom. These are the scars that keep us from believing anything can be good, and worse, these are the wounds that bury our hopes and keep us from fighting back ….because we never knew we could. Continue reading →

The cold war comes after heartbreak.

Night falls into this sub-divided menu
whereas I could feel her if she decided to say yes
or we could coincide together like those who survive winter
and huddle our versions of emotion
to create our own substance

 (Or warmth)

Relationships are an ongoing trade.
Wouldn’t you agree?

Some people give, some take, and some understand the cycle.
They do things like breathe out so that someone else can breathe in,
which is genius
if you’re not afraid to be trusting.

The truth is, I’ve always been a fan of love

When I was young, the way a girl smiled could dictate the direction of my day.
If nothing else, the way she smiled would at least determine my next idea.
Like say, imagining her in a flowing skirt, crossing her legs
and then dangling an open-toed shoe from the top of her right foot.

I call this mesmerizing…

Or like when she twirls strands of hair around her index finger
and looks off into nowhere with a semi-glossed smile

I call that intriguing…

I may have written this before, but I’ll write it again:
Man may very well hold the key to the universe
but women are the cylinder into which it turns.

I found that I was always searching for truth
even while in my sickness……
by any means necessary
in any direction, and by whatever method I found
I sought through the exteriors to find something within
and align myself with the magic of the sun

I dreamt of children playing in the daylight
……like when we were young

I pictured this as versions of goodness
(Or purity)

I found myself searching for the twenty thousand answers
to my ten thousand questions
I tried to find myself without using me as a factor.

What I mean is….
instead of searching within I went without
I went without the ability of forgiveness
I went without the satisfaction of salvation
or the possibilities of redemption.

So in order to form a more perfect union with myself,
I turned to the synthetic
I turned to the plastic
and the artificial

I mean….
No one expects the bad outcomes to come
otherwise, no one would ever come at all
at least not through the same door as me.

I have watched my childhood vanish and seen its casualties
I have heard from those
whose silhouettes are shadows against prison walls
as well as those who have fallen six feet below the surface

But yet I say this:
Even they were looking for the truth
They were searching for the truth, the whole  truth
and nothing but the truth; so help them God.

My destiny is that which proves the fact that people do change.
However, I no longer compare myself to the leopards and say,
“See, I did change my spots.”

…because I no longer walk on all fours.

I was a kid, it seemed. Or maybe I just felt reborn. I felt young because I decided to not be afraid and put everything on the line.
I walked up from the subway near Central Park and I was immediately embraced by the old familiar smell of hotdogs from the hotdog vendors.
I could smell the pretzels from the pretzel vendor and the roasted nuts as well.

Columbus Circle was alive and well. I stood alone with my own version of perfection; I had a pair of hotdogs with mustard, ketchup, sauerkraut, and a can of soda.
I rested at the brick wall that surrounds Continue reading →