Should

Maybe

I should

write more;

maybe

I should

change

the story;

maybe

I should

wear a shirt

when it rains

and nothing else;

maybe

I should

pretend

I don’t feel

other people’s pain;

maybe

I should

go over there

and explain;

maybe

I should

keeping looking

for love

in all the wrong places;

maybe

I should

look at a poem

and not a mirror

to fix all the broken pieces;

maybe

I should

see my throat

as a moat

and not a trap;

maybe I should

gain some flexibility

in my lines

and my words–

cut myself some slack;

maybe

I should

be aware

of the fear

in my viens

and nothing more;

maybe that voice

in your head

is nothing more

than an eyesore;

maybe

this pen

never actually

runs out of ink;

maybe

I am a person

that can help the ship sail,

not sink;

maybe

I should look for God

a little harder;

maybe

I should

keep the drain

clear of any shit

expect clean water;

maybe

I can be

the person

that person

wanted me to be;

maybe

we can see ourselves

out of this misery,

penitentiary

of American “should’s”

and personal “would’s”

and keep going,

going.

 

October 22, 2017

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To Be Me

What a struggle

to be me,

sitting here

so patiently

waiting for a new train to come,

the last one long gone,

gone, gone…

 

We need nothing,

and yet there is longing;

we want everything,

and yet here it is:

everything,

sitting

on some stone in my backyard.

 

All along, it has sat.

 

Patiently,

sitting,

in a station

I have sat at many times.

 

Maybe if it looked in on itself,

it would find patience there, too.

 

January 9, 2016

Trees

My back

is strong

like a piece of bark

it has its edges

but it is stable,

it stands tall–

it is stillness

and silence

and me.

 

These elements

of control

have never been

my friend.

 

Illusive fears

of loosing

a self

that I had forged

by lack of force

the word loss–

I could write odes

to loss

and sonnets

to loss

and haikus

to loss

and I would still

remained

lost

in the same sentiment

 

Who am I?

 

Where do these attachments

leave me?

Where did I acquire them?

 

Did death bring up something

deep inside of me

that always needed healing?

 

An unknowingness of stability,

the entrance of doubt?

 

I am here, writing,

wondering,

thinking back to trees with hearts

written in their sides.

 

October 8, 2016

Love After Love

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

Derek Walcott

One of my favorite poems…

Self Love

I’m

beginning

to see

self love

in a different way.

 

Learning

to love yourself

for what you used to doubt,

to question, to hate–

that is the most important part.

 

The smile on your face,

the eyebrows above it,

the eyes a boy used to love,

the stories within them.

 

Water can crash down

and hurt you but in the end,

it is only water.

 

Everything else is just a feather,

floating,

remaining neutral.

 

July 2, 2016