drown the past

there are so many
of us that are damaged
from the past.
some hate men
and some hate women.
some despise
because of race,
or because of sexuality,
political leanings,
or simply because of
expression.

broken and bent,
we become trapped
by our experiences
rather than looking on
with curiosity
as to why we feel
the way we do.

so much harm is done
to us that we
have the tendency to
relate all harm
as being perpetrated
by those who have done
us harm in the past.
we use outward appearances
to dictate how we
respond in the future.
we see a certain race,
a certain sexuality,
a certain gender,
and assume that
since we were harmed
by that type of person,
all those types of people
are out to harm us.

we give light
to the probability
of future pains
from past sufferings.

we exclude entire
demographics
because of our
negative
experiences.

we use our past
to build walls
in the future
when we should be
trying to build
sepulchers
to the trials
we have endured.

with self

at times
life seems so futile.
no matter what you do, where
you go,
or how you do it,
it all ends in the same way-
a final breath,
an ending sigh
that breaks you through
to whatever it is that
resides
on the other side of reality.
and as hard as i have looked,
all i see is the need
to become a better person,
to experience life at its
finest,
to set goals and conquer
yourself.
the more you learn,
the more humble you become-
because to live
with the goal of
self realization
is to come to terms
with honesty.
it is an understanding
that puts you in your place.
as individual as we are,
we are not so much unalike
to be better than anyone else.
no matter how much debris
you collect
(fine cars, a beautiful home,
people who love you)
there is no other way out.
and in that we are as equal
as any other species.
we will feel pain, we will endure,
we will experience joy and suffering,
but at that final moment,
we are all the same;
joined with every other living thing.
so in time, we play games
with war, with finances, with the ever enduring
light that scrapes away at the surface
of our being.
we set traps to capture
ourselves in the slick
of life,
pretending to gain,
to lose,
to make amends.
as the light dims,
we wonder what we could have done
rather than the actions we have committed.
so i will play the game,
but always remain
with my head in the clouds,
wondering who i am
at the very heart of me.

the wind, the breeze, the air, the need.

the wind howls
from the north,
singing its song of change.

the wind brings
a new air,
warping that which
stands in its path.

the wind whistles
and moans,
overturns the trash
and tramples the dust
inside of the pain.

the wind is nothing but
mind, perceived by a spark,
lit by the hand
who acknowledges it
blowing.

we bring the fire of
our own misery,
shedding skin
after skin
like snakes
biting at the winds
that shift and change
everything over into itself
again and again.

there are a very few
who
break the loop,
and try as hard
as they can
to find need
in the suffering of man.

ask the peaceful.
ask the lovers.
ask the charitable.
ask the wind.

through all of these years,
the wind,
it blows,
again and again.

looking forward

I would sit in my room and stare at the walls.

I imagined getting away,

what it would be like when I could finally leave.

And I thought about this time right now, and how far I would go.

I am who I wished to be, a little alone, a little depressed, but

that's just because the world is a hard place and life

likes to stab you from time to time. Beyond the normal

points of crises and despair, I am happy.

I like to think that boy sitting on his bed back in 

'84' 

would be happy too.

If he only knew where he would go,

the women he would find,

the troubles he would see that made him

grow taller, the assholes and pricks,

the lovely and lovable. It all makes sense when you're

farther down the road.

I look back at the young me, looking forward into

the future and I say, "See, it isn't so bad, is it?"

And he shakes his head, gives a small smile and says,

"We finally got away, didn't we?"

I return his smile. "You better believe it, kid. 

Aren't you glad you didn't do it?"

he nods, puts down the razor and looks forward.

"He can't break me."

"No, kid, he'll never break you. You'll be damaged, 

but you'll make it through. Just hold on. Did I mention 

the women you'll meet?"

"You mean we get to ..."

"Oh yeah, so many times with so many beautiful girls.

It'll make you cry in your sleep. But there's a special 

woman down the road that you want to pay special 

attention to. She's had it hard, but she'll love the fuck 

out of you. Give it time."

A single tear and the boy is alive.