She was crying, crying so very hard, and it almost sounded the same as hysterical laughter——It was a sound steeped in deep emotions. Emotions are strange and uncontrollable but never wasted. She had the fading foundation of a woman who in her younger years was pretty, No, not pretty—-She had once been beautiful. She’s my Sad Autumn girl. Getting older is rough, even more so for a woman. Losing ones attractiveness is a cruel trick of time. There’s no punch line, just laughter and tears——and we all live somewhere between the two? Kindness is more attractive than beauty right there and then I wanted to change my life We all want to We are all Afraid to live Afraid to die some days leave us feeling like forever
Somedays will never be forgotten somedays show us what we’re made of It would take all my strength To beat back the darkness When did it get to be so hard Maybe nothing and no one changes Or, maybe it’s only me who changes I don’t really know anyone Anymore
And no one knows me
I prefer it this way I wanna figure it out On my won I miss everyone Everything hurts Nothings easy anymore How do I carry on I just want something Something to hold on too But something is so hard to find I’m lost in the wonder of it all and it makes me cry and laugh living somewhere between the two
Forever forgotten an empty chair at silent dinner table China ware frail Showing tiny fractures
Pious Stained window from the back pew of a prayer worn church contrition on aching knee’s Quiet sobbing in the dark
midnight cars meander rolling by in the distance aimless forlorn headlights
The lonely bark of a dog at 3:05 am The measured ticking of a incessant clock Flickering starlight from Dying stars forgive-less moon chasing Blind skies Waiting on a tardy sun birth of twilight Shadows cast from dim windows across dark silent bedroom walls
Rain drops against window panes endless November nights They say the world spins But I don’t know What to believe
We are given no reasons Holy books and funny papers Knowing, that there is, no-knowing What’s reality, what’s illusion What’s it matter we all must walk through the fire And we do our best To carry on
Some people like to go hiking, as for me, I like to do the opposite, I go benching. It’s springtime, and time to stop and listen to the breezes in the treetops and smell those fragrant pines.
I’m just a little bit lost A little bit hurt chasing my loses for all I’m worth Our walls crumble In gods time into a merciless sea An earthquake swallowed us up nothing left, just you and I
Desire is my address An empty house of dyeing houseplants I wanted more More than anyone could give Come on home with me Show me what ya got Take off all your clothes And I’ll untie that reticent knot We’ll never get what we don’t deserve Unlearning everything Shy innocence hiding beneath us all The ocean feels me The moon slow walks across the sky Everything collapses into infinity Into you and I gravity pulls us into an event horizon Somethings are irretrievable
She would send me letters with an imprint of her lips pressed to the envelope in the shape of a kiss. I didn’t know that women still did things like that. This thing, this kind of love was something new, it was the beginning of everything. it was the end of everything. When she wasn’t looking I’d secretly watch her body as she moved through space, she tamed gravity. Her powers of intimacy were sexual, supernatural, needing no explanation. We were on the same frequency, the same vibration, it was electric.
She’d walk towards me wearing a penetrating smile. Everything felt as if it were in slow motion. When we held one another we were a perfect fit. I knew her smell, her taste and the feel of the small of her back,–Oh, and that silky firm ass. We walked at the same pace. Our breath inhaled and exhaled in rhythm. Making love felt natural, we became entangled in our mutual pleasures.
We belonged to one another, in a way that time could never erase. She put a spell on me, it made me ache for her. It was such a sweet torture.
Wrong place, wrong time. Fate conspired against us. A secret love that has no chance is always the strongest.
Lately I’ve been thinking about tears. There’s a variety of tears. There’s the garden variety sad tears. There’s angry tears, mad tears, frustrated tears, tears of laughter, broken hearted tears, tears of joy, tears of gratitude. But the worst of all tears is the ugly tears. They come at night when hopelessness surrounds. They come in the hollow hours of timeless time, like a collapsing bridge between being to late to be evening and yet to early to be called morning. It’s the hour of shadows creeping though darkness, black on black.
Ugly tears come from a dark retched place deep within ones crumpled soul. These tears come out with this god awful sound of great despair and unspeakable sadness. It an ache that’s inescapable like a jagged knife ripping through bone and tissue. It’s a bad night that knows no end. It causes the face to contort, whence then wrinkle into a clenched fist. No words come out, just a high pitched sick whining sound, like a coyote with it’s leg caught in a trap. It’s the sound of someone choking on raw suffering. Everything is stifled and muted and of no use. All that remains is a wounded indescribable wailing. Salty tears trace down your cheek, strings of slobber drool from your lips.
It’s sick tears, its trying to not “let go tears”. Maybe it’s like puking your guts out. You heave and gag and feel your skin crawl. You feel yourself covered in a cold sweat. Why is it so hard to let go of the broken pieces?
But after the dry heaves subside, suddenly you feel relieved. Ugly tears wash the hurt away. Sometimes you have to put your finger down the throat of your soul and empty yourself out. There’s a knowingness that things can change. But ya gotta hold on. The sun is peeking beneath the horizon. You’ve made it through another mortal night. No more waiting on the sunrise. They say take the body and the mind will follow. Make no mistake, we all must fight to preserve our sanity.
Take your body to places that nurture goodness, kindness, a place where smiles incubate. Don’t be ashamed to shed your tears. To be alive is to touch all the emotional basis. Don’t be one of those who stifles laughter or hides their tears. Feel, Feel Feel. That is what it is be alive. Take your clothes off and sit in the sun and let it’s warmth and light replenish you.
Buy a harmonica or a Kazoo. Learn to play a ukulele. Be a storyteller, who surprises you with an unexpected punch line. Cause life is a punch line. Roll down your car windows and play some John Prine on your car radio. Let it all go, the laughter, the tears the brokenness. Lean into the day and wake up slowly letting the day quietly unfold. Enjoy your own company, be your own best friend, Most importantly is find reasons to smile=====take the body the mind will follow.
Billionaires paying no taxes The presidents a felon When he opens his mouth There’s a rat you’ll be smelling The truths a lie Lies are facts When listening to That Fox news crap 4 more years Of crazy drama Republicans suckling Trump Likes he’s their mama Spewing hate and division Gaining power like Hitler Selling his brand To the highest bider America, America What a shame The experiment failed Only ourselves to blame No one spoke up When they came for you and me Now there’s no one left To save our liberty Bezos, Zuckerberg And Elon Musk Greed and money In gold they trust Call themselves patriots Saluting their king Kissing his ass Like it’s a gold ring Disrespects women ‘and gets kinda pushy Say’s they can trust him While he’s grabbing their #@%$ Hair colored orange Replaces red white and blue If ya piss on the constitution He’ll pardon you Repeat Chorus
I was always hanging and trying to fit it. Trying to belong to something or be pert of something. I was awkward and weird and a lonely outsider…….. Kinda like today, if ya know what I mean.
And this is how it feels, now and again Wet earthy scent after a rain A sky destined to never return Her warm breath whispering in my ear More sensual than a kiss Excavating lost passions
Outside the traffic snarls Horns and sirens are unrelenting Other peoples lives and troubles Intrusive noise gives birth to city chaos Strangers stare back At me, through me We’re all worn-out Heros
Misfits, lost in another days meaningless commotion Revisiting past houses once lived in The walls retain specters Trespassing on frozen memories Like a favorite movie playing in the back of my mind Hearts pierced, souls tattooed Everyone uniquely the same
Real life goes by undiscovered Nothing matters anymore A head full of shitty poems Empty words dredged from the ether Ashes filling my journals Everything becomes A reprieve Or a lost cause
We leave little pieces of ourselves behind. And it’s those little things that comprise a lifetime. The days seem slow but the years go by like a hurricane, sweeping the days away like a zephyr. Time is a train with it’s dark tunnels and clattering steel rails. It rattles and shakes over bridges suspended between then and now, here and there. Leaves me wondering where am I going? Where am I meant to be? I’m a weary traveler staring out my window as time flashes by in a blur. The whistle blows, new passengers climb aboard, while others suddenly depart, unexpectedly leaving us behind——mumbling sad farewells.
Sweeping vistas lay across the countryside, cityscapes fall by the wayside. The sun tight ropes the horizon. The scent of damp fields filters through the open window. Oh, to behold the beauty of life. There are those who sleep thru the entire sojourn, drowsy and uninterested. Some choose to complain the entire trip. For them, nothing is a miracle—-they’re in a constant hurry to get nowhere.
We don’t always choose who is seated next to us, but be kind and considerate. This is how we make friends and find connections and compassion. People come and people go, love is happenstance, so keep an open heart.
We never know when the conductor is going to come down the isle and ask for our ticket. We don’t know when we’ll be reaching our last stop, our final destination. It doesn’t matter if you’re in first class or riding coach, we’re all on the same train, we are all riding separate yet together.
Some believe that the train track is circular and goes on forever. But the train track is linear and goes forward on a straight line. It keeps going forward undeterred, it continues, with or without you.
We are all passengers, moving through time and space. And the trip goes by oh so fast. Don’t waste a single moment. Before long the whistle may be calling you home.
I intended on telling you everything But forgot too Neglected too Didn’t think I needed too Thought there’d always be time for reminiscing About the Mundane Sometimes Insane Flickering memories Frozen in golden amber All these things Seeping from our possessed hearts
I wish I’d told you How important you were to me That you were Irreplaceable But now you’re gone Except for Scattered Life scraps Listen I’m sending you these Gossamer Visions
About the things we once believed in Like
Fast cars Hot unapproachable girls Nihilism and god The absurdity of it all Beer runs Soul searching Serious confessions Nervous laughter Blinding truths Music and poetry Secret battles Lost faith Dark drives Riding in your beat up car On cold December nights Dim headlights Leading us nowhere Peering at life With all its illusions Playing our drunk and stoned Out of tune guitars Comparing life notes Life messes Life lessens Opportunities missed Abandoned promises Posing our questions Having flashes Of momentary clarity
Time sneaked up on us Here then gone How could have we known The inevitability of it all If given a second chance I’d play it differently But you’re gone And it’s too late And there’s nothing worse than Being too late And you, like most of the holly things I value I didn’t realize how much I’d miss you But I do
I just want it to rain I want to be left alone Except for the sound of rain On blurry rain strewn window panes
I’m sick and tired of the 24/7 news cycles It’s not new, news It’s the same fucked up repetitive bullshit Over and over People killing people Children starving Bombs exploding Turning buildings and lives into rubble Where people Once walked their dogs Lived Proudly called such misery home? Where the lost innocence of a child Is excused as collateral damage What a cruel world
Listen The billionaires and politicians They don’t give a shit about you They’d just as soon Grind your bones into dust And blow your remains into the void
I just want it to rain I want to be left alone Perfectly Quiete But for the sound The sound of rain The sound poetry makes As silent prayers fill puddles With tears
I’m holding my breath Because you gotta dive deep Real deep To find the ethereal things Where the mermaids and Gods sleep Deep and deeper Dark and darker Beyond the light Only pure blackness Down there, where there’s only Muted sounds Only the sound of your own heart beating Thundering between your temples Fear is in the hands of your demons And guarding angels Hold my hand Show me your face Show me everything Do you wanna come with me Swimming beyond the deep Past, where there’s no going back Beyond where it’s no longer safe I swear I can’t breathe Open your mouth Give me your breath Give me life
Moments pass, owned by no one. But I watched you through a draining hourglass. Forgive my troubled thoughts, as I attempt to reach you, but words are only shadows with no substance, truth is there hiding in the blinding flash of dissolving passion. Life is a vapor and love is our only wayback home. And she makes everything okay when everything is all wrong——like me, she’s always out of place.
And that December Sierra wind blows hard leaving coarse lines across my beard stubbled face. I’ve met a lot of people in this life, but I’ve found few with the soul, the grace and life energy that’s possessed in her. She gives the room electricity when she enters into it. She looks at life with focus, clarity and has compassion for those in their times of trouble. She’s aways handy with a joke and a listening ear. She’ll be my harlequin and I her Captain.
She cares about the right things, family, friends, laughter, good conversations, music, savory food, moments of shared companionship. I feel like telling her everything, and we’d connect the dots. Everything is so ironic, everything is stupid, except not for you. You know the punch line, you understand how the story ends. You know me, and that’s not an easy assignment.
I always wanted to be in love. But maybe I am one of those who can’t be loved. I try to hard to be funny, to be passionate—-to be lovable. But maybe I always choose the wrong person to love or maybe they picked me by mistake. Everyone needs love, to feel special to another in a world that leaves us all too often feeling ordinary and small. I think I’ve spent to much time alone, I scare myself with all these crazy love thoughts. Maybe I’m crazy and that’s why love alludes me—-I scare sane people off?
Maybe I expect too much of love. Maybe all that crap in poems, songs and stories is just fantasy. I need someone to share my fantasies. Maybe love is pretending, as in pretending to be what another wants and desires? I guess that’s fair enough. Okay then–how about a yard love sale. A half off on all the miscellaneous dreams, wishes, promises and prayers that nobody else wants anymore——or even cares to barter for.
Okay then, I’ll share half my fantasies with you if you share half of yours with me. And all the undesirable junk no one wants we can take to the love dump and set it afire watch it burn to ash.
So be brave Everyone is going thru something No one really cares or understands why We all have our own living hell Everyone is barely hanging on Tired, lonely and the depressed It’s just the way this life is That’s just the way it goes
So be strong Everyone is going thru something The ragged homeless guy panhandling for pocket change The trembling drug addict, dope sick The innocence locked-up inside us all The suicidal beauty queen That’s just the way this life is That’s just the way it goes
So be alive Everyone is going through something There’s howling wolves at the door There’s night terrors in our dreams There’s horrors in the waking hours It’s all red lights and sirens The noose dangles then tightens It’s just the way this life is That’s just the way it goes
So be happy Everyone is going through something Regardless of it all Stare the devil down Throw rocks at the squawking ravens Toss your shoes over the power-lines Watch your bridges burn as they light your way It’s just the way this life is That’s just the way it goes
So be bold Everyone is going through something Your deliverance is paid for with your intentions There’s a sacredness discovered in your last second chance Nobility awaits the headstrong You either give up, or get up again There’s everlasting glory for those who refuse to give in We find out what were made of in the 15th round It’s just the way this life is That’s just the way it goes
When I was a kid, I’d hop on my Stingray bike and ride it down to the city pool. I grew up in the Sacramento Valley where the summer temperatures could climb into the triple digits. 105, 108, Sometimes as high as 116. There would be a droning hum throughout the suburbs of air conditioners struggling to keep the stucco track houses cool. The streets are vacant. No one dares walk barefoot on the scorching pavement. Occasionally I would hear a distant weed eater or lawn mower. Much of the yard work was done by Mexicans. All the Republicans wanted the Mexicans to be deported just as soon as they finished grooming their immaculate lawns.
The only refuge for a kid like me was the city pool. Girls were screaming, boys had their water fights, kids would be doing flips and cannon balls off the high-board. All the commotion was unnerving to me. I’d dive in and swim to the deepest part of the pool and stay there for as long as I could hold my breath. Down there in the coolness, there was a tranquil silence, everything moved in slow motion. I’d sit at the bottom crossed legged Yoga style, looking like a red chlorine eyed Buddha. There’s a quietness there, a peaceful silence, like the deafening solitude found in the void of deep space, and there was a weightlessness like that felt while in the womb. With every birth the universe becomes renewed—-existence abhors a vacuum.
I’d burst through to the surface leaving my protective womb——body and soul colliding with the universe, I’m reborn into the madness—-Suddenly, inundated by the fracas of life with all its dissonance and chaos. As I’d sink to the bottom, I’d become acutely aware of the sound of my heart beating in my ears.
I’d once thought I could tell her everything, anything—– and she’d be interested in me, she’d look me straight in the eye, She knew me, finding our common connection, a peak beneath the flesh
I don’t know to much about love, but I believe it does have something to do with being interested in the other person—-and that’s something that’s hard to fake
She use to make my coffee in the morning, and remind me to wear my jacket when it was cold out, and I suppose that’s a version of love, caring for someone is in the little things, something we don’t realize until we get old—– getting old is non negotiable—-kindness is a spiritual thing
At the kitchen table we struggle to feign interest In what the other has to say, we give up and settle on commenting about the days weather, enjoying the simplicity of sitting with someone, knowing the rhythm of their footsteps as they make their way down the hall, mesmerized by the sound of a familiar voice, it felt as if these days would stretch on forever—–nothing is forever, so cherish the moment, she once said
mourning and morning sound the same but are completely different things, they’re called Homophones
How can something once so fresh devolve into foggy memories, it’s like the morning fog as it fades away, late afternoons clouds wrap themselves around us. The sound of a distant fog horn breaks my heart
You can’t change the weather, yet people still want to know what it’s going to be
The waiting, the wishing, searching and hoping for signs that I’m on the right track, am I getting somewhere, anywhere, or am I going in circles like a skipping record—-or am I moving full-steam-ahead towards an inevitable cliff?
There’s a belongingness in learning that we are all in a shared aloneness, and I once foolishly thought you knew me, I was wrong, my words were intended to be poetry, warm damp words whispered from my lips into your ear, tickling and sending shivers down your back, you said you always fell for the weird ones, poets, madmen, musicians, but I think I scared you away with my intensity, I so badly wanted to touch you, I accidentally called ya baby, suddenly your smile became a question mark, it left you bamboozled, you said you thought I put a hex on you
You came searching for pieces of yourself, lurking in the shadows between your light and my darkness—You too, felt the sadness in this world, and for a time, the sadness held us together, there was just you and I—and then all the rest of this nihilistic world against us
How many of our lost yesterdays gave birth to stillborn todays
And, how many todays do any of us have? who are you fated to spend your tomorrows with?
It’s a sin to squander once in a lifetime moments, but I did so, with you
Will this ache in my chest ever subside?
From some mystic place you conjured up your black magic
One part love and a hundred parts regret
I don’t believe in the concept of time
There’s only a greased and slippery “now”
I don’t try to hold on to things anymore, Because the Buddhist were right. The attachment to people and things is the root of all suffering, but I never could let go of you, I’ve choose to suffer
I mess things up, I say one thing and do the other
I’m a wandering contradiction, avoiding the lines on broken sidewalk cracks, tripping over forgotten promises, facing my inexcusable lies, living with all those pent up dreams of what might have been
The only people for me are the ones walking in circles, silently struggling while getting nowhere. The ones who are not self assured, or at peace with themselves. These are the ones who are estranged from their soul purpose. It’s only through suffering that we find out what we’re made of. I wish it wasn’t true, but it takes troubled times to grasp the meaning behind this place in which I now have chosen to call home. I am the product of the choices I’ve intentionally or unintentionally made. Time silently rolls by, inherently taking no passengers.
I feel at home with the lost ones who are misunderstood, the ones fired from jobs, behind on their rent, fighting addictions, crippled by heartaches, tripping over broken dreams, the ones holding on by their last shreds of hope. These are the ones who’ve made bad decisions, foolish choices, and considered by most to be a lost causes. Sitting on a broken-down couch, empty bottles, empty dreams, full ashtrays, the sound of cars rolling by my sun streaked window.
And there’s nothing as unsettling as knowing you are a lost cause. Make no mistake, we must all fight for whatever we want to get out of this life. Who’s to say who’s the winner. When in the end I’m only shadow boxing.
Its dangerous to want someone as much as I want you
I turned my back on the sun and let thoughts of you eclipse my fear
Waning moon now my only nighttime confidant
I don’t sleep well any more, is it because of age or is it the ghosts of my past coming to haunt me, reminding me of people and things I no longer want to know
Weighing a lifetime of rights and wrongs, victories? defeats? regrets?
Who’s to to say, who wins, or who loses
Cause we’re all the same in the end
My heart feels the nooes tightening
Cobwebs await unsuspecting flies
A beach bonfire, a primal smoke infiltrates our clothes
Drink no longer soothes me, In fact, it makes mornings hurt worse
Worried, restless
Always lonesome for something, but for what or whom I no longer know
Where do old summers go to die?
The idea of time scars me
Maybe we’re all scared, some of us are just better at concealing it
There are many brands of mental illness.You’ve got your garden variety schizophrenia, Bi-polar, chronically depressed, OCD, PTSD, ADHD (not to be confused with LGBT). There’s Anxiety disorders, Mood disorders, Personality disorders, Alcoholism, Drug addiction, Paranoia, Narcism and insomnia.
If you string all those psychobabble labels together and allow them to infest a soul, you’ll find the makings of a poet. Poets possess a menagerie of mental health disorders. They come with many of the same symptoms defined in The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, often known as the “DSM,” To be a poet is to be demented, a lune, batshit crazy, fool-hearted, delusional, insane and a vessel of junkyard beauty.
Poets hear voices, see visions, are paranoid of the demons and devils that chatter incessantly inside their echoey heads. Some are being channeled by Jesus or Lucifer. Some claim to have been abducted by UFO’s who’ve inserted micro chips under their skin. There’s the ones with tin foil caps covering their skulls to blockout the micro waves that control their thoughts. They possess super powers, they are the cursed, the blessed and the god forsaken chosen ones.
As far fetched as this may sound, these poets believe they can inhabit your brain and silently transmit disembodied emotions into your flesh. They scribble little black markings, or what we call letters on paper, arranging them into words and sentences. If these markings are assembled with perfection, they have the power to unlock revelations hidden within the readers gray matter. These words; these poems exist only in the readers imagination. They can’t be seen or touched, they mysteriously seep from the subconscious to the conscious mind. The author may be dead, but their words carry on in the readers head, like the breath of gods, omniscient, immortal——omnipotent.
How crazy is that?
This is more than an observation I’m sharing with you, it’s a warning. If you choose to go down that path of becoming a poet, then you’ll need to go all the way. You’ll have to fearlessly peer into the heart of the darkness. You’ll have to force yourself to see and feel the things that most avoid. And there you’ll find death threats, condemned love, contaminated truth, the meaninglessness of life, a fools complacency, naked truth and simmering nihilism.
If you can get past the fear and madness, if you are willing to endure the song of the sirens, you will find your own voice. There will be peace and wholeness. In the sadness there is beauty, behind crumbling walls of the fortress there’s freedom. In this secret place, time means nothing, reality is malleable, love is forever sustained and a poet is ordained.
You Actor’s: Kevin and Joel Staging: Kevin lite in a spotlight sitting on left side of stage.
Joel lite in a spotlight on the right side of stage. 3:07 am phone rings. (Clock on bedstead shows the time)
Kevin, “How did this happen?”
Joel, “What time is it? How did what happen?”
Kevin, Ya know, there’s something I just discovered. You can fall in love in the course of a second, in the blink of an eye. But falling out of love can take years. Little things start to imperceptibly build up, change, irritate—— aggravate——infuriate. Did I ever really love her? Where’s did it all go? Love? When did it go bad? Does love have a expiration date? Why the hell did this happen? I can hurt her or I can stay unhappy.”
Joel, “Dude, it’s three something in the morning.”
Kevin, “I don’t even hear what she’s saying anymore. It’s just background murmurings, like the drip of a leaky faucet’s. I’m constantly saying ‘What? What did you say?’ I don’t think she hears me either. We’ve tuned each other out. We’re sharing the same bed, but fighting different demons, chasing different dreams.”
Joel, “Have you been drinking? I told you not to call me when you’ve been drinking. Morning will be here soon. Take some deep breaths, take an Ambien. Turn on the TV and watch some infomercials or the Fox channel, that will put you ass to sleep.”
“Kevin,“I feel the darkness inside me. I wanna be happy again. What do I have to give up to feel alive again? A divorce will leave me flat ass broke. My daughters will side with their mother and I’ll probably never see them again.”
Joel, “As the saying goes——shit happens. Are you still chasing that young skirt at your office? How long have you been married?”
Kevin, “34 years.”
Joel, “Now listen to me. Everybody is struggling with their existential crises. Life is a grind with its meaningless jobs, empty marriages, pretend love, endless bills, too little passion, to many petty arguments over petty shit, relationship betrayals, people unexpectedly die. This life is thwarted with the ‘what once was, what is now and worries about about what will tomorrow bring. Life is a tangle of knots that we all struggle to untie. After 34 years there’s a lot of tangles to undo. Some just cut the rope in the hopes of starting over again. There is no starting over again, you can’t separate yourself from your past selves, or your past choices. You drag all your shit along with you. Life just keeps happening with or without your consent. If you can’t sleep try counting sheep, pray to your god, take an Ambien and call me in the morning.”
(The phone call ends and then the sound of a dial tone).
The phone rings. Bedstead clock reads 6:13am
Joel, “Hello, are you there?” Kevin, “Who the hell is this?” Joel, “It’s me, Joel.” Kevin, “Do you know what time it is?”
Joel, “Yeah, it’s early. Pay back is a bitch. If you can call me in the middle of the night, then I can call you back at the crack of dawn. You asked me about how things happen. Things happen because we forget what matters. We waste our time. We let worries consume us. We stop having fun. How’s that saying go? ‘We don’t stop playing because we get old. We get old because we stop playing.’ We end up playing parts that no longer fit. Now listen to me. We’re all gonna die. All of us. And you’d think that would make us want to be kinder and honest with one another. But it doesn’t. We become selfish bastards wanting more. More this, more that. More stuff and things to plug the holes in our lives. We go out there looking for love and happiness—— but—-life becomes a train wreck happening in slow motion. Love is riddled with compromises and sacrifices. Love is no good unless it’s tested now and again. Maybe nothing lasts forever. But when that magic feeling hits you, it’s as if you’re the only one who’s ever experienced that sweet madness. Pussy can make a man do some crazy shit. Careful not to confuse sex with love.
” Kevin, “I try, I really try. But the love I want no longer exists in my marriage. I wanna feel real love again. I need a connection with someone. I got to have this. If mortality has taught me anything, it’s that this life is too short to waste it trying to bring back to life to something that’s dead and gone. When I’m with Katlin we talk about life and love. We laugh, we get each other. And there’s no substitute for that feeling of being understood. So many people are imprisoned by the mundane. Boring people talking about boring shit. All their time spent rattling on about nothing. I don’t wanna talk about politics or the weather, I just wanna take a drive with her in the country with the windows down and good music playing on the radio. And, for a few minutes I can forget about the cruel world out there waiting for me. Something as simple as that makes me happy. But nothings gonna change unless I change.”
“How did this happen? We get forced into a corner, doing the same things day in and day out. The same arguments, the lonely nights lying in bed next to someone who no longer knows me, and doesn’t even try to understand me. And I’ve tried to understand her, but I don’t. We’re speaking different languages. I just wanna feel free and alive. Katlin has a way about her. She has that unexplainable sexual energy. Her touch is electric. It’s not just the sex, it’s an indescribable connection. If you’ve never had it, then you’ll never understand what I’m talking about.”
Joel, “34 years? It’s an unfair game with unfair rules. A sixty something wife can’t compete with a thirty something mistress. Be careful, be very careful. Love is boring——while infatuation may be exciting, but it’s often times fleeting. A true love should be like a fine bottle of wine, getting better with age.”
Kevin, “Nah, love is more like old cheese, it gets green, hard and smelly.” “I wanna be drunk on love. I wanna take my clothes off and dance naked in the kitchen kind of love. And Katlin would do crazy shit like that with me. I could wait another 34 years and that’s something Mary would see as stupid and ridiculous. She just does’t have it in her to be wild and crazy. To be fun. She’s always has to be in control. I fucking hate being controlled.”
Joel, “So, you’re saying this new girl is a nut like you? A naked dancing idiot? Give Katlin 34 years and she might tell you to put some clothes on and take the garbage out and stop acting a fool. Life is full of boring necessary chores. You have to be practical, responsible.”
Kevin, “Fuck being practical. I’d take 2 years of real love over 34 years of practical, predictable—-stale love. Marriage is impractical. It’s absurd to think two people can stay in love through an entire lifetime. People change. People grow apart. You can’t un-curdle sour milk. Once its gone bad, there’s no going back and making it good again.”
Joel, “So, now you wanna run off with this young chickadee and leave everything and everyone behind. Spend your days living on the beach and making a living selling conch shells to the tourists. God, you’re such a dreamer. You can’t sale off your past like pieces of junk at a garage sale.”
Kevin, “The heart wants what the heart wants.This emotion, this thing called love is powerful. It makes me believe in things again, it makes the colors brighter, the sound of birds singing sound louder. It opens up my chest and lets the fresh air in. Every breathe is a rebirth. Two hearts beating as one.”
Joel, “Dude, you got it bad. There’s a fine line between love and fantasy. Passion can turn out to be a passing fling. Love is a drug, it’s a mixture of chemicals in your brain. It’s addictive. It can save your life, or it might destroy you. Love is like Fentanyl, you never know if it’s going to kill you or give you that warm and fuzzy feeling in the pit of your belly. When it’s forbidden it’s at its strongest, the more dangerous the better. It can bring out the best in you, or it can bring out the worst in you. Beware, some willingly die for it, some vengefully kill for it.”
Kevin, “But In spite of it all, with its good and the bad, life without love isn’t worth living. Bro, I’m torn and twisted. This life is funny, once you’re woke 4 it hard to fall back to sleep, literary and figuratively, if ya know what I mean? This thing is driving me crazy. Thanks for listening to me. I owe ya one.”
Phone is hung up, then the sound of dial tone. (Phone rings) (Clock on bedstead reads 2:47am)
Joel, “Yeah, hello Kevin.”
Kevin, “How did you know it was me?”
Joel, “Uh, let me see now, is it because you’re the only person who calls me in the middle of the fucking night asking me to help them unravel the mysteries of love and life. Have you been drinking again?”
Kevin, ”Did I wake You?’
Joel, “Of course not. I was just rearranging my sock drawer at 3am in the morning.”
Kevin, “I’m gonna do it. I’m leaving her.”
Joel, “Dude, don’t say stuff like that unless you’re mind is clear and you’re sober. Drunken decisions lead to bad outcomes. Life is hard, but harder yet, when you’re drunk and stupid. You’d better remember, you’ve got a lot on the line.”
Kevin, “I don’t want a pretend love any more. I need something real. Do you think I’m doing the right thing?” Joel, “If you’re asking for answers, I don’t have any. You’re not looking for advice, you’re looking for someone to offer you their approval. When it’s your circus, it’s up to you to decide who’s the the clown. No, you’re more like the tight rope walker, the circus flyer. You’re in a no win situation. You’re walking that tight rope, with no net. You’re gonna fuck around and find out. And the more you fuck around the more you’re gonna find out.”
Kevin, ”Find out what?”
Joel, “You stay with your wife and you’ll be forever unhappy. All her little quirks and nuances that once were adorable will become annoyances. Her touch will make you recoil. You’ll forever be comparing her to that young little love tart. You’ll ache for that girls touch. You’ll imagine her in one of those short see through sun dresses. But, then again, If you go all in with this chick, then you’ll be starting all over again. And it ain’t easy starting over when you’re in your sixties. You’ll end up living in some shitty little apartment with her and her snotty nosed kid. This is where pretend love meets real life. She won’t be walking around the apartment complex in sexy skirts, she’ll be wearing three day old sweats. Someone will have to do the laundry, wash the dishes, sweep the floor, pay bills, get gas in the car, fix dinner and feed the kid. It’s that cliche, old man has an affair with pretty co-worker and loses everything. Broken vows lead to broken hearted old fools. And there ain’t no fool like an old fool. Is it worth it to lose your house, the respect of your children and break the heart of the woman who bore you children and who stood by you for 34 years. Old love doesn’t stay young and pretty, but it does remain tried and true. Brother, like I said, you’re in a no win situation. You are not going to be happy regardless of which choice you make. Have you ever tried marriage counseling?”
Kevin, “Marriage counseling at best will only clarify all the reasons I no longer want to stay married. You go there and they expect you to air all your raw personal ugly shit to a perfect stranger. You end up talking to some counselor who’s the age of my daughter, who thinks her psychobabble is going to mend the relationship between my wife and I. She doesn’t realize that we’re two old bumbling warriors with many years of treachery between us. What the hell does she know about life and love at her age. I need a counselor who’s ancient and gnarled, someone who’s seen enough to be suspicious of life and pessimistic about love. I want a counselor who looks as old as Clint Eastwood and wears that same angry sneer. I really don’t want to expose all my insecurities and vulnerabilities to somebody who keeps asking, ‘And how does that make you feel?’. It makes me feel like shit, how bout that for honesty and personal growth. And then having to explain why I can’t get a hard-on anymore cause fucking the same women for 34 years just doesn’t get me excited anymore. No thank you. Falling out of love isn’t a disease, it doesn’t require a cure. I don’t know how or why it happens or where it goes, it just happens. Falling out of love is like aging, little aches become unbearable pains.”
Joel, “Just be careful man. Co-workers can pick up on that sappy vibe between two love struck fools. You think it’s a secret, but it gradually becomes obvious to everyone else that you have goggly eyes for one another. Fishing off the company pier has its dangers. Then one day you’re called up to HR and given your walking papers. You’re playing with fire. I know you can’t see it, because you’re blind sided by love——-You’re deep into it. I’m worried about you man. I’d say have a good night, but I don’t think that’s in the cards. Love always has strings attached, ulterior motives and power struggles. Buenos noches mi amigo.”
Phone hangs up, and then just the sound of a dial tone. 6:00 am, phone rings: Kevin, (In a groggy voice)
Kevin“Oh hell no. You know I don’t do mornings.”
Joel, “Good morning sunshine?”
Kevin, “Sunshine my ass. You don’t seem to understand. I’m going crazy. This is my last chance to have my story end with a happily ever after. Am I asking to much, is it so wrong to want a sliver of happiness?”
Joel, “There’s fleeting happiness and then there’s lasting contentment. I wish I could help you, but I can’t. Contentment is something only you can give yourself. Contentment isn’t exciting, it isn’t skipping hand and hand through life. LIfe’s is fucking hard. It’s full of challenges, and thankless jobs and unrecognized sacrifices. And at the end of the day it’s you——-it’s just you that has to learn to live with yourself. Let you conscience be your pillow. Should you stay, should you leave, should you turn right, turn left? I don’t fucking know. Nobody knows. There’s no guarantees, no instruction manual. Most everyone is hanging on by their fingernails.”
Kevin, “Sometimes all I have left is the realization that I need to let go. To say fuck it. There’s no lonelier feeling than being with someone who makes you feel even lonelier. I want love to be fun. I want to be happy. I wanna feel alive. I don’t want every little thing to seem so serious, so freaking heavy, weighing me down and wearing my ass out. I don’t want to worry about saying the wrong thing, navigating my way through an emotional mine field, only to end up in another stupid argument.”
Joel, “Maybe you can’t go back to that feeling of falling in love, making out in the backseat of your daddies big ole Buick. Maybe love is something that morphs into different things at different stages of life.”
Kevin, “Yeah, and maybe love dies a slow painful death. And, once it’s gone, it’s never coming back. I doin’t want to end up like one of those old couples you see sitting across from one another at a restaurant wearing drawn blank stares. Sitting there in total silence, nothing left to say except pass the salt please.”
Joel, “Perhaps you’re mistaking silence as contempt, when its just being comfortable with having nothing to say or share.”
Kevin, “Or, maybe all that ever needed to be said or shared has already been said and shared. Spontaneity and romance is replaced by monotony. Shit, have I wasted the last 34 years with the wrong person?”
Joel, “You can’t ask someone to be something they’re not. You got to learn to love someone for who they are, not what you want them to be. That’s not reality.”
Kevin, “Fuck reality, I’m searching for the sublime and the magic that makes life worth living. I don’t know where this is all leading, but I’m going. Ya see, you can do everything right, eat good, exercise, go to church, pay your taxes and help old ladies across the street, but without inspiration, without adventure, it’s a life wasted. Waisted on waiting for things to change, that are never gonna change. Nothing changes until I change. There in lies the rub. No one can live my life for me. I woke up one day and realize I’ve been living a lie. Trapped in a meaningless job, marooned in a loveless marriage. Its grinding me down as one day bleeds into the next, until one day I just said, “fuck it” what do I have to lose?”
Joel, “I think you’ve listened to one to many love songs, watched to many chic flicks. Marriage is a job, it takes work.”
Kevin, “What the hell happened to you?. When did you become obliged to just settle for table scraps. You’ve become one of those people who turns love into a job, a chore, a drag. If love were a job——then what they’re paying surely ain’t enough. Cause, you don’t get paid overtime and you 8 don’t get to take weekends off, no holidays, no vacations. If love were a job, I’d go on strike.”
Joel, “Let me ask you this. Is your heart beating right now?”
Kevin, “Of course it’s beating.”
Joel, “How do you know? Are you hooked up to a heart monitor? Are you taking your own pulse right now? How do you know your heart is beating?”
Kevin, “Well, I haven’t killed over dead yet, have I?”
Joel, “You just take it for granted that your heart is beating. And you take it for granted that your wife loves you. You mumble some vows and promises about loving someone for better or worse, through sickness and health. But you’re just speculating that this person at the alter will be the same person in 34 years. It’s a lie. Love changes, moves, morphs, It’s a moving target.”
Kevin,“Yeah, is that why cupid shoots arrows into fluttering hearts? When do the reasons to leave out weight the reasons to stay? Jesus, why does love have to be so hard?”
Joel, “Love is complicated. It means different things to different people. For some it’s security, to others it’s great sex, for some financial security and for others someone to split the bills with. Sometimes it’s someones hand to hold in the darkest of nights. For some, it’s sharing meals, or simply the comfort of hearing someones footsteps coming down the hall in the morning. People expect to much out of love. At best we’re all needing someone to love and someone to love us back. That’s the secret to life. And that’s all there is. So, we forgive one another and carry on.”
Kevin, “Or, maybe people expect to little out of love. They settle, they do without, they no longer touch or kiss, they no longer hear the other persons voice or see their desperation. When does love become connivance, indifference——work? Maybe Thoreau was right when he said, ‘The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation, and go to the grave with the song still in them.’ Love should make you want to sing and not leave you mute.”
Joel, “There’s the old Chinese proverb that says, “A bit of fragrance clings to the hand that gives flowers. Maybe love is more about giving than taking?”
Kevin, “Maybe once the flower is picked, the bloom begins to wilt, the scent dissipates and the garden goes dormant. Is that a tad bit pessimistic or what? How do we keep love alive?”
“I’ve never been one to believe in soulmates and all that new age crap. But damn, there’s this feeling she gives me. I don’t want to lose it. I’ve known love, but nothing ever as strong as this. It’s as if she’s always known me and I’ve always known her. Regardless of the pain and misery this thing has brought me, I’m still glad it happened.”
Joel, “Shit happens. Sometimes you step in it. Love makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. It can’t be qualified, quantified, measured, weighed, seen or touched. It’s a fools game. Over fifty percent of the marriages will end in divorce. It’ll bring out the worst and the best in you. It will destroy you, it will give you wings. What is love? Is it only a case of hormones gone wild? Is love at first sight real? Is it a check list of things required to qualify as love? Is it finding someone with compatible Zodiac signs? Is it chemistry? Is it even real?”
Kevin, ”I suppose It’s like the Easter Bunny Santa and four leaf clovers. Believe in them for as long as you can. It doesn’t matter how it happens, or why it happens. All that matters in life, is that love does happen. And good luck if it unexpectedly happens to find you.”
Joel, “So, what are you going to do? Join the Foreign Legion, consult a witchdoctor, write a sad country song about the woes of love?”
Kevin, “Katlin once said to me, ‘don’t say you love me, treat me like what you think that word means. Cause, love is such an overused word, it’s meaning has lost its potency, it’s a cliche of a cliche.’”
“She could get away with saying shit like that because she’s deep, she’s smart—she’s authentic. She’s got a poet’s heart. She cuts through all the bullshit and puts her words together in a way that makes me shake my head and smile. She pierced my heart. I’ve never known anyone like her. And I’m sure I’ll never meet another person as real and transparent as her 10 ever again. My love for her has nothing to do with her looks, although I think she’s absolutely beautiful. It has nothing to do with sex, but she’s has a way of making loving fun. It has nothing to do with politics or religion. Calling this indescribable connection as love (whatever that means) is selling the emotion short.”
“She saved me, she ruined me. Before her, I thought I was content. But now I can’t un-feel what she made me feel. She makes me laugh, she makes me feel good, she makes me a better person. No one has ever been able to do that.”
Joel, “So, what are you going to do?”
Kevin, “Sometimes you don’t get closure, you just gotta decide to either carry on or to move on.”
Joel, “There’s never two loves that are the same. I guess you’re gonna have to decide which version of love is right for you. But, whatever you do, don’t go and get yourself a love tattoo. Cause, it’s a lot easier to have one inked into your skin, but much more painful and expensive to have it removed. Kind of like love, if ya know what I mean.”
Kevin, “It’s too late. I already got one on my arm.”
Joel, “What does it say?”
Kevin, It says ’Love’ followed by a question mark.” Joel, “Love is a freaking unexplainable mystery. I wish you good luck with your once dreamed of ‘Happily Ever After’ ending. With that said, I wish you a good night.”
Kevin, “Yeah, and the same back at you. I’ll leave you with a Bukowski quote, ‘Find what you love and let it kill you’’’
(The phone clicks, then the sound of a dial tone). 11 12
Let’s get this straight, people who seek simple answers are stupid. The ones who say, “Just repeat this mantra, just take this pill, go to this church, become a vegan, do yoga, read this book, join this party, attend this meeting, be affiliated, be indoctrinated, surrender yourself to a cult, follow this preacher, prophet, shaman, sacrifice your individualism, follow these steps, support this program and on and on into perpetuation. If anyone offers you simple solutions to the myriad of life challenges, immediately run in the opposite direction. Nobody’s gonna save you———except you!
Get this through your complacent brainwashed mind, “Life ain’t simple and surely not easy”. It’s filled with tough decisions, difficult questions and complex choices. Furthermore, life is unfair. Innocent children unexplainably die while evil murders on death-row live out long heathy lives——it’s infuriating! These dreadful thoughts keep me up at night. What kind of god creates a universe that approves such horror, inequality——such depravity.
There was a time many years ago when there were only three TV networks to choose from (ABC, NBC and CBS). There were two types of bread, white or wheat. You were either a Chevy person or a Ford person. You were a Beatle fan or a Beach Boy’s fan. You either watch CNN or Fox News. There was a time when we only required one hour of nightly news to cover the local and national fresh batch of calamities.
Nothing is simple anymore. Is “more” always better? Maybe the Amish have it right with their horse-drawn buggies, silly bonnets and goofy black hats? Maybe enlightenment is more achievable for the Zen Monk living alone in a cave in the Himalayas, no distractions, no facebook, no TikTok, no porn. Is ignorance bliss? Was Socrates right when he said “unexamined life is not worth living”. Are the stupid people happier than the seekers? It’s so much easier to be stupid and happy rather than struggling to find yourself, to be “woke” (whatever that means?)
Now a days, we want to see, hear and know everything. We watch with glee as our heroes fall from grace. Does the tragedies of others make us feel better about our lackluster lives? Life is no longer lived, it’s processed, deep fried, homogenized, propagandized.We watch life through a porthole, secretly peering into others Social Network realities. We seek out others in an echo chamber that supports our beliefs. We’re overloaded with conspiracies, truthiness and artificial intelligence (oxymoron). There are now computer apps that can be programed to write college thesis papers, compose music and create original paintings. I don’t know what original means anymore. Is there an algorithm for originality? For beauty? For reality? For Love?
What’s real, what’s illusion. What’s true and what’s bullshit? It’s all up to you because the future is up for grabs. There’s no longer a truth filter or bullshit detector. We live in a world of contradictions and complications. I don’t know about you, but I’m pissed off. Why you might ask?
The rich pay no taxes while the rest of us fight over table scraps. Politicians sit on their asses and do nothing while our children are slaughtered in another mass shooting. We have resources to better feed and house the homeless but yet there are more starving people living on the streets than ever before. We have better medications available to save lives but pharmaceutical companies charge more than what the sick can afford. We have science that has revealed the imminent dangers of global warming, yet our governments and industries fail to implement changes that will reduce the greenhouse effect.
I too suffer from insomnia. The night can be a prison for the over thinkers and senseless worriers of the world. So much empty time to recount all my failures, follies and faults. Things I should have said and done, opportunities missed, loves gone ill-requited. The red numbers on the bedside digital clock appear frozen in time. I consider taking a half of one of my Ambien sleeping aides, but the after effects often leave me drowsy for several hours the following morning. So, I’ll bravely stare down my meddling ghosts.
Time is so precious but at this tortured hour time takes on a different meaning. I have what the Buddhist call monkey mind. This is when my thoughts jump from one unrelated thought to the next. What a silly ass thing to say “Good Night”. There is no such thing as a “Good Night”. there is only darkness and solitude awaiting me there. Night is where my demons and devils churn out boogiemen that hide under my bed or breathe loudly from behind my closet door.
Are you a believer in ghosts? Do they come from within us like a dark psychoses? Or, are they materializing out of the night ether? Have you ever seen one? If god created all of the universe, then he/she (binary?) surely could include ghosts in this odd ball thing called reality. Reality is malleable, depending on whose version of reality you choose to subscribe too. There’s a fine line between reality and illusion. And, I don’t give up my illusions easily, they have sustained me up to this point.
I hope my rants don’t scare you away my dear old friend. Maybe “scare” is too harsh of a word. Perhaps the way I connect my esoteric thoughts is too confounding. I’ve even grown tired of my own ruminating thoughts. You’ve peaked under my covers and seen my nightmares. I didn’t formally invite you in, but now that you’re here, feel free to make yourself comfortable. I offer you my friendship and therein my condolences—–as this is a package deal.
Yes Norm, indeed it is true—-relentless snow and gray skies can render my mood gloomy and lead me into dark bleak places. It’s been a long hard winter—The Winter of my Discontent” John Steinbeck. I haven’t gone completely mad—-yet? I haven’t killed anyone and buried them under my floorboards “The Tell-Tale Heart” Edgar Allen Poe—-yet? But under the right conditions we can all be driven stalk mad crazy. We can find ourselves doing unthinkable things to one another. And may I ask, when did the hug become a choke hold? I hear them talk, I hear them whisper to one another, plotting against me, making wretched plans to foil my dreams and undo my flawed desires. One man’s fetish is another man’s torture. The opposite of love is not hate, but rather vengeance.
The snow hems me in behind my frozen doorways and the wind whistles through my windows at night. It sounds like the soundtrack to a scary clown movie. The pantry is empty, my snow shovel broken and my only light is that from a flickering candle. I keep my one good eye on her and my other on the hands of the unwound grandfather clock. Time no longer exists in this abysmal season. She desperately wants to leave this god forsaken cabin, but she is stuck here with me until the spring thaw. And god only knows what the melting Perma Frost may reveal.
I think walking on all cylinders isn’t an oxymoron, but rather a mixed metaphor. Words are precious things and not to be toyed with or misused. When people mess with things that they don’t understand it leads to a break down in communication AND THAT MAKES ME AWFULLY ANGRY!!!!
Who’d of thought that out of 26 letters all the masterpieces have been written. What if there were 27 letters? Just think, what poems and stories that could be comprised of 27 letters, a hundred letters?
The white snow blankets everything, like a white canvas covered in white paint. They say no two snowflakes are the same……I extrapolate from that, no two women’s bodies are the same, but that makes no difference to a man who craves the sun.
I’ve been trying too hard, for to long , to be something…
I don’t even know what that something might be. For some people life just falls into place. They find jobs and love and buy houses and cars and have backyard barbecues. They don’t need to be seekers. They have their church of stone and their benevolent gods. Everything they want, is given. No questions asked.
But not me. I spend my sleepless nights wondering about the sanctity of this life. So much bullshit. Dumb fucks are our political leaders. Rich bastards living in luxury while children in poor countries die of hunger. What passes as spirituality fails to give me peace of mind.
These things don’t make me depressed, no——they make me sad. There is a difference between being depressed and being sad. To be depressed is a chemical thing. It can most often be cured with a pill. It can be prayed away.
Sadness is rooted in a sense of hopelessness. It can be heard in Chet Bakers trumpet. Sadness comes from facing the futility of life. It has something to do with exaggerated empathy. Maybe it’s laying oneself open to nihilistic thoughts. I’m not depressed. I have a soul that aches, So, I know in spite of it all; I still have a soul. Heart-ache is depressing. Soul-ache is sadness.
Who knows why anyone ends up where they do? Or, how well they do, whatever they do, once they get there?—-that’s an odd sentence, but I like it for some strange unknown reason. Odd things and people have always been good friends to me. Friends and family scatter, some are chasing something others are running away from something. But I suppose we’re all getting there—–wherever “there” may be? It’s hard for me to conceive that I’ve lived in Tahoe for 35 years—–and yes, where does the time go? Days go by like the raindrops that carved out the mighty Grand Canyon. Nature is patient, silent, unrelenting—-and unforgiving to those who might challenge her.
I noticed that I’ve used a lot of question marks in my prior sentences. As I’ve gotten older, I realize that I have a lot more questions than answers. Time is such an abused but precious commodity. I have to remind myself of that. I’m feeling a bit nostalgic, sentimental or just kind of self conscious. Sorry if I’m not making much sense, but as you must know, that’s nothing new.
The wind is howling outside my window, sometimes so hard that it shakes my house. It takes a lot to shake a house and even stronger forces to revive a love. I like the painting by Andrew Wyeth of the dog sleeping on the bed. I miss my old black Lab named Chase. Such a faithful friend. When all the world was too busy to go hiking, biking or whatever, I could always count on my Chasey-Boy to be ready and willing to go anywhere with me and I with him. Dogs are great practitioners of unconditional love. People should be more like dogs, but not pee on fire hydrants.
I wanted to be Understood To be irreplaceable But even the mightiest of loves Is adrift between illusion and fantasy
The chasm too wide The silence too deep
You wanted me to be whole You wanted me to be confident You wanted me to be stable But I’m none of those things I’m vulnerable, kind, sensitive And there’s nothing worse then being gentle In a world stilted on false bravado
The world rewards Angry bitter people
Such people Wear me out Drain me Suffocate me
I’d prefer my solitude
Ya see To be a poet It requires that you have Muscles in your soul
You told me to grow up But I said why The world’s full of fucked up grown ups
The road becomes too long Time blurs Love’s a vapor
I let it all go I let you go I was being dragged So, I let it all go
Rants, Raves and Random Thoughts 