Puzzle

There are so many pieces, I can't tell what the end will look like
I start with the sides and build the framework that will house the story
Frustration mounts at times when I cannot seem to find the right pieces to fill in the gaps
Elation abounds when I do
Slowly as I fit more and more together I start to see the where the puzzle is going
I catch a glimpse of the whole
There is still so much more work to create the picture that all will see, and even then who knows
For the first time however, I am encouraged by the blankness that lies ahead and I am excited to see where the story takes me.

Here

Inspired by a burning idea,
& in seconds grasping at the embers of a once bright flame.
Meaningfully insignificant.

Knots tighten,
too much sleep has replaced too little.
Can't seem to win, another lecture on the horizon.
Thoughts, pictures, words racing desiring to find their place,
but there is no place?

Confounded.

"In the grand scheme of things"
What about the not so grand schemes?
So many steps too take, that the first lies in a mass of obscuria.
So long having floated, too light to reach the bottom and walk.
Viability ahead:

I never really wanted what peaks through a shadowy forecast,
and even then its like swimming against torrents too strong to make a real pace.
Owing, everyone?

I'm just tired of the cycle that I seem to perpetuate upon myself.

Blue Ribbon

The girl with the blue ribbon in her hair.
The big brown eyes and the pretty smile,
how she turns her face for pictures.

When pessimism overruns, she helps to
find the ground
All that was twisted inside, she made to unravel
When low their is high, and the same

She turns the day upside down
and draws a picture
Her words pierce and carry,
flooded with caring and desire

Creative and then some, being around her
causes warmth and hope

She sees the positives, and helps you to see
Surprises around every corner, always excited where's next

She reminds me of a flower, bringing its beauty to the day.

Call girl...or guy

You call when you need, than you don't call again
I'm supposed to be there...
to listen, to tell, to inspire, to be
I'm gone again after that, until you need again.

You can't do it without me, and it makes you mad.
As if it's my fault
You talk, and you wiggle, you don't listen
and then I'm blamed for the wrong choice.
I am a simile, its like James' fault.

It's the same old story, new and used, with a different flavor.

I bend under the weight of my own pressure
I collapse under the weight of yours
I'm tired, worn out, and for the moment,
don't want to hear it.

round

Without you here, there is less to say.
Everything just seems to have lost a little bit of luster.
I sit, and I stare at the screen,
reminiscent of times past.
More smoke cascading in my lungs.
It helps.

I didn't realize how much I need you.
To listen, to talk, to believe.
I read my old posts, and I can't recall those feelings,
They have been buried, and I stand atop 'em.
Your smile changed my day, your favorite place -
was always my favorite place too.

4 months rolls off so insignificantly, but its not.
A stretch, not too much, past the point. I hope.
I have lost my luster, and my desire has taken a hit too.
Medicinal answers are in my future, and my past...they blur into the present.
Can't kick some things: replace the pills with her, replace her with smoke and liquor, replace the proof with you, replace everything with the pills. And around.

The best part of the day, I see you on my screen later.

Gloves

My dad bought me one.
My brother gave me the other.
I cherished these two.
Not for ascetic beauty,
or that they were intricate to my life.
But because they meant a lot to me.
Time elapsed around the simple act.
My dad teaching me, my brother helping me.
I can re buy a new one,
yet it would not be the same.
I have had them since high school,
and have spent incalculable time
of use with them.

Of all things that were lost,
these are some of the hardest for me.
I will miss the moments of connection.
The moments of enjoyment, even the back pain that was sure to follow.
The smell of leather and dirt, the feel of wear from years of use.

Almost as if part my childhood, adolescence and adulthood are now lost to me.
Times of one on one. Times of teams. Times of fun. Times less than fun.
They reminded me of mouthfuls of seeds, and spitting, rally caps, the smell of fresh cut grass, using cleats as a shovel, and inspiration.
All of which have impacted me in someway.
It will be different when the three us throw around now in something new.

Developing fire

I don't know where to begin. Last Thursday I experienced something I never would have thought that i would. I watched my world burn before my eyes. It's a bit surreal to be honest. almost as if it didn't happen, but the burns on my arm and the memories I cannot seem to shake hold me in my reality.

It was any other day. I was home alone and had to work later in the evening. I was on the phone and casually mentioned that I had smelt smoke, which I disregarded because I had just used the oven. I took a shower, and when I stepped out of the bathroom the air was permeated with smoke. It was all around. I searched for the source, but to my dismay I was unable to locate it. It was getting worse however, then I looked out the front window and saw a random lady stop her car and run to my garage, a strange occurrence. When I opened the garage door I was met with a wall of flame.

I immediately ran to the fire and frantically searched for something to extinguish it with, I tried a rake, but it burned off at the handle. I ran back into the house to fill a garbage can up with water-it was all I could think of. When I returned to the garage the fire had spread, and so had my overwhelming dread. The garage door began to close, I bent over almost spasming under the smoke in my lungs and the fire had reached the door. I exited as quickly as I could and my mind raced in every direction. I grabbed the phone and headed out the front door.

I threw myself into the snow in front of the garage, frantically trying to throw snow at the beast who destroying all before my eyes. It was a futile act. I watched in horror as the fire grew in spite of my efforts and I realized I could do nothing. I ran back to the house to get brownie out. I went inside to the stairs and found that she had hidden on the second floor, she came at the sound of my voice-she's an amazing dog-and we ran outside. I stood at the door, coughing, looking in as the darkness filled the house and shouted for the cats, they would not come and I could not go back in. I called and I called and my brother who has given me a life here, rushed over.

I waited in the snow watching as the fire destroyed. I cursed myself. I had the supreme feeling of helplessness, it was consuming everything. The heat burned my face, singed my hair...and I watched, where the fuck was the fire department, it will be too late, and I am to blame. How. How? Why? Why? my brother and his family?

I exposed my vulnerability to anyone there as I fell into a million pieces and wept, and cursed, and was angry and ashamed. I already felt like a blight on existence, now I had just cost my family-whom deserve so much-everything.

I was on my knees with no shoes, no socks and no shirt when the officer pulled up. He dragged me to his car and locked me in. It was here that I had truly lost what little composure I had left. i wanted to do more, to try more, and now I couldn't even see.

The moment I dreaded arrived, my brother found me. I didn't want him to see me the way I was. I didn't want him to know that I, his younger brother who he has always taken care of, just lost everything he had. I was afraid. How could I face him? How could I express how truly sorry I am, for everything. That's when he found me, at my lowest, and he was his best. He grabbed me, made me look him in the eye and expressed how he did not care about any of it, only me, his younger screw-up brother. I almost wished me punched me instead, but my brother is too amazing for that. He was what I needed and he was the strength for both of us.

The nightmare that destroyed our house and the items that held memories, has haunted me since that day. It's hard to shake it. I look at my brother and I know how lucky I am to have him and my sister-n-law, how strong they are and how they have held the family together. How they have lost everything and they are still so thankful and faithful. How even when it was thought it was my fault, that they didn't care, they still loved me and wanted me with them.

I know its weird but I can still feel the heat of the fire on my face. The odor of the smoke and the fire in my lungs. If I can sleep I dream about it, and when the dream is over, I know that reality is not. We have to face the charred remnants of our lives and forge a new one, together. For that I am thankful.

heart of darkness

My heart is a broken, tangled mess of a rock.
It has been damaged and it will bear the scars of times past;
Shame nor pity is felt.
I have lived. Just as you have lived.
We all carry the past as our burdens,
Not letting it get the better of us is the goal.
I have deluded myself into thinking I do not feel;
I do
My heart has felt the warmth of the moment, inviting the slightest touch to enter:
Thinking about knowing, realizing I do not.
Always more to learn, more to heal, more to hurt
Such is life, and life is worth living.
Even if it is only for the experiences of something stolen,
But there can be so much more.
Even where one has trod, to heal is reachable.
Thinking about knowing, and this I now do.

Masks

You see what I desire you to notice
It changes as my mood alters
Revolving masks
differing emotions, feelings, wants
So many,
The real is rarely seen, if at all
Would anyone recognize or care?
Glimpses-observed through the chips
An insight of what is actually there.
Few have seen, fewer more will.
Sour flavored, sweet tasting, brings a smile or distaste,
I am what you see I am, but not seeing what else.
Loquacious to a fault, serves purpose for the time.
The time that no one can escape from; too short in the end.
Long lasting smile, dripping the charm and humor, vanishes alone.
Stay awhile longer, this mask will prevail.

Tis the season

Ah, the end of Christmas. What a day.
This is the first year I have not spent Christmas with any family whatsoever. It is kind of a surreal experience.
It actually has been quite awful, this entire week.

I have virtually not left the bottle for days and I am foul at the moment.
Pent-up to explosion.

I wish I had a definitive answer.

I'm frustrated at not being able to have provided for myself, to rely on asking, and still no gain to make.

I don't like the charity.
I don't like the ever-ending circle.
I don't like the use for validation, and not realizing.
I don't like your demeaning texts, trying for a moment to think you understand me. You do not, and keep the jealousy.
I don't like the blame that was put on me, as if I did not feel bad enough.
I don't like playing anymore.
I don't like the typing that assumes something about me that I am incapable of doing.
I don't like you telling my boss that you are surprised that I am working out.
I don't like the feigned concern.
I don't like you wanting and not wanting something from me.
I don't like that everyone thinks that I can be labeled and that you know what it is.
Fuck you.

In a world where people presume and assume about all things they know nothing about, leave me out of it.

A story

His whole life Jack was afraid to take a chance.

If the rare occasion arose and he did, he was often left with his head in his hands.

Reaching the age of 30, he had found himself with nothing to call his own.

"If only," he would say; and he would focus on his past and never really faced what could be.

He would run, and curse his miserable existence.

He let his career never develop, he never faced love, and he sat at home watching old reruns of cheers while drinking a revolving door of various liquors.

His interests lied in classic art and music, but that was where it would end.

In Jack's own mind, his existence was one of nothingness, because that was what he felt.

Sometimes life is nothing without taking a chance on something...

am indeed

"She takes my breath away"
I would love to say this and mean it again.
To find the feeling of nervous excitement, just at the brush of a touch.
To want to sacrifice all I have and am, for a smile.
No. I loved that feeling. Now I enjoy who I have become.
I do not need long term, love, marriage, virus.
I need the moment.right now.
I don't need your words, but I want words.
My words, are fanciful. Charming. Oozing. Not bad.
They can be something special, no need to change for what.
I fell once. All it takes is once. I need no more, not from her...long lasting
From me. I am who I am becoming.No.looking, backwards.

You know I am not yet content, but I am finally on my way/without digressing.

and thanks to whoever said I was amazing.

No idea.

Stale tasting, bitter aftertaste. Time well spent in the moment.
Look to tomorrow-seeing something new. But is it intended?
Do you want it to be?
A long lasting decline, far from whence you began.
Burdening; you no longer.

Insufferable to attraction-mere words to adjectives.
Types too many words, words are a gateway into the soul.
or is that eyes. I can never recall. Why not two?
Pleasant surprise, a brush, a moment, an escape.
I find too many escapes, and ones that will not define me.
I need not another:
Smoke a little more. Have another drink. Spit into the bottle. Pop one more pill, before you twinge in pain. Reasons, not just. Just one more conversation-that never feels as long as it is.

Missing a presence, and abhorring for no reason.
One in many, no reason to stand out.
If I am the same, why is it all else are the same.
You fight, and I fight, to regain the definition of uniqueness.
Too wide a feeling to locate in one specific spot, it moves too much. Well, at least it seems.


I write too much, and I still love star wars.

I

I sit and I try. I have nothing else to offer. I am what I am.
I have made decidedly wrong choices, and I live them.
Afraid to to take a chance. I will lose what little pride I have.
What little self-respect I have that defines me.
Excuses overrun, and running to nowhere.
Pride becomes shame, on a one-way road where there is no destination.
Confusing writing, masking the haunting of discovery. Learn a little. Have.
Acrimonious feelings no longer have a grip, than a someway a finger hold is found.
Pushing away, those and myself, easy is the path most taken.
No more one more-but there is always just one more I hope.
Inadequacy reigns, in some form, in some life.

Wait a little longer, push a little more, expose just another minute.
Witt, humor, intelligence, amounts to...well, only time will tell.
Overcoming desire, but not sexually, desire without work. Then maybe sexually.
Whose voice is heard first, whose pride bends a little. Everyone I want.
I am what I am, no glory, no contentedness, not now, not yet, but maybe, you'll see, or you won't.

I make ebullient feelings, but is there more?
A word smith, fancy on himself, there is limitless potential you see.
What if he fails, what if he falls, then disappointment is felt universally. We should of seen.
Its easy to not try, then no one is let down. Perhaps the one whom desired a teacher, perhaps more.

I long to take care of, to provide, I have in my own limited way, but again disappointment, distaste, to foul a flavor to be savored.
I try, perhaps a bit more this time, to see what others see, to not be blinded by illusion, desire, contentedness, live up to what you are. Climb. Fall. Fail. Try again.
I am who I am, but can I be more?
Evasive writing makes sense only to the writer. I am content with elusively.

Standing Storms

Isn't life filled with its little ironies sometimes? Recently my fondness for writing reemerged in my life. It has been some time since I have even wanted to think about writing, including blogs. But Last month something awakened inside of me, and I feel better than I have in a very long while.

Ah, but there is always more. Just as I was getting into a groove again, an unfortunate accident came my way. It would appear that a beverage of some sorts, I'm not sure what kind, met gravity and the two conspired to ruin my laptop. So just as soon as I return to find my passion in writing, my legs get swept out from under me.

It occurs to me, that in life when you try to stand up, you can get knocked right back down. What matters though, is how many times you try to stand up, and how long you wait. I have been sitting for way too long, and it looks hard to stand up, and I can only imagine that I will get knocked down again...and again. That's OK. For some reason I don't mind.


"Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes. You must look into that storm and shout as you did in Rome. Do your worst, for I will do mine! Then the fates will know you as we know you: as Albert Mondego, the man."

It may be old, but its still clean.

Let me take you back to an incident that I think you'll enjoy, it's one of my favorite anecdotes.

It was a cool fall evening when I was asked to manage a large video store in Dearborn, MI. If you are unfamiliar with the ethnic makeup of this city let me explain, it is primarily Arabic, which is of no real concern to me, but it is a foundation for this story. I like to consider myself as a pleasurable guy and rather enjoy meeting people. So when I promptly arrived a little past when my shift started, I scoped out the people with whom I was going to share this evening.

I arranged various unimportant items in an attempt to look more important than I actually was, and decided after enough time had passed that it was time for my fellow co-workers to make my acquaintance. So I approached a young female and in a friendly, professional tone, introduced myself. Here is where it gets interesting. As a slave to cultural traditions, I extended my hand to shake this fellow human's hand, because this is what one does when they meet someone.

What happened next will forever stun me. At the very sight of my outstretched hand, she visibly recoiled from it, almost like my hand was a venomous snake. Sidebar: I hate similes, they are like gay. Anyhow, as she recoiled, she said; "oh no, no touching. You are an infidel. You are unclean."

Needless to say I was slightly taken aback at this. I had never in my life experienced racial prejudice, and it stung a little. I guess I do not have to explain that our relationship never really progressed past that event. Sometimes I think it is just hard to move past something like calling someone unclean. Ah well.

To this day I still think about how I am an infidel and I will forever remember my brush with racial profiling.

The man

There is a man sitting alone in a deep valley. Surrounding this valley are hills in all shapes and sizes, and surrounding the hills are mountains. To the man in the valley it is overwhelming, how could anyone climb something that seems so impossible. So for awhile he simply sits there, and does nothing but moan about the helplessness of his present situation.

Time wears upon him and this man finally decides that nothing is to be gained by sitting around waiting. So he begins his trek up the first hill. With a little struggle he makes it, but there are so many more. So he keeps moving to the next one, and with even more hardships he reaches the top. Here he sees that the next hill looks even more arduous than the last. Perhaps I can't do this after all, he says to himself. He waits again.

Finally frustrated by his own predicament he grits his teeth and steels himself for the monumental task ahead of him. He struggles, and he climbs, and he falls more than once, but he keeps moving. Finally, when he is worn and weary, when he has all but given up hope, he pulls himself up the last hurdle.

Instead of collapsing from exhaustion, he stands to his feet on top of this hill. He looks down upon what he has just accomplished and for the first time since he can remember he feels joy, he feels proud, he finds a renewing of his resolve. He has made it farther than he ever would have thought possible, he has bested his own self-doubt and that encourages him to move forward. With a last glance at what he has achieved, he turns to face forward, and he gazes upon what lies ahead of him.

Here he sees more hills, and more mountains, and even greater challenges. Now though, he is not afraid. He has crossed a line and he has found that if he can face his hardest challenge and win, he can face more, and nothing from behind him will further hinder him. He can go farther, and he will wait no longer.

Too

Too proud to be the first.

Too scared to see what could be.

Too nervous over how the past haunts you.

Too worried to say what you want to say.

Too ashamed for something, and you don't know why.

Too proud to not hear what you desire to hear.

Too scared over a change in life.

Too nervous about what you feel.

Too worried about reciprocation.


Doesn't it always seem like there are too many too's in life? Sometimes it is hard to see that there can be so much more.

Grand

"Isn't love grand?" This statement was uttered by an attractive young woman to her friend as they were sitting around talking.

"Um, why yes I suppose that it can be."

This young woman failed to notice the expression the man had on his face while she was talking about love in a cavalier way.

"Oh, I'm sorry for rambling on again, its just that I think this is the one. I mean he seems different than all the other ones. Don't you think?"

"Derrick? I guess. But Lisa, how long have you actually known him?"

"That doesn't matter, when you're in love you're in love. It's a wonderful experience, just to know that the one person who you can't live without feels the same way."

"Yes, than I guess love is very grand."

Lisa and John had been friends for as long as they could remember, both always being there for each other when they needed it, and even when they didn't. At some point, John had fallen deeply for his friend. Just to see her smile was the one thing that brought a smile to his lips. There was nothing about her he did not know: her severe insecurities, the way she snores, how she snorts when she laughs too hard, how her left leg is just a little longer than her right. Yet, even though he knew all about her, she would always surprise him, and to John, she was perfect.

Lisa was oblivious to John's passion for her though, and if she did know about it, she hid it very well. To her, John was the closest, purest friend she had ever known. He was always there for her, and he always knew just what to say to make her smile. He would be perfect for her, but he was like a brother to her. He may not of known this, but it was his advice and approval that she desperately sought after on all matters.

So it was here that she was asking John about newly requited love. She was whimsical and flighty in her methods, but she sincerely desired John's approval. It was just that when it came to matters of the heart, John was very guarded, and she had been known to fall for the wrong guys. So she wasn't surprised by his lack of enthusiasm, but it was not what she was hoping for, and honestly hurt her a little.
"John, you are so not a romantic."

"Yea, I guess not sugar nipples."

"I told you not to call me that, we're not 15 anymore."

"Oh, I'm sorry...babygurl."

"You are incorrigible." Although she said this with a laugh.

So the game would play on, John never having enough courage to actually tell her about his feelings for her; and Lisa continuing to be oblivious to them, and never really examining what John means to her.

"What type of wedding dress should I get?"

"Oh god..."

live

Sitting alone atop of a hill, looking down into a vast array of something beautiful. Wanting to feel something other than what you are feeling.

Being alone in a sea of people, searching for anyone who recognizes your face.

Walking silently down a beaten path, where many have come before, wondering at the eventuality of its ending.

Being trapped by the very air around you.

Lying awake at four AM, listening to clicking sounds of the keyboard.

Desperately searching for something which may be right in front of you.

Finally taking the outstretched hand, the one that has been patiently waiting...if only you can.