He knew his time was running out, yet he was okay with it. Even before he was diagnosed, he knew where he was headed. His fate was the same as everyone’s - Death…Read More
I used to have friends,
Then I broke their wrists.
Playing this game from bottom,
Of pain I did insist.
First I hunted their legs,
Then focused on their hands,
After me they can no longer push,
No longer grab, or walk or stand…
A mosque shooting has left us reeling,
asking questions and stoking terror feelings,
Who, when, what, why and how,
give us answers, screams the world, now!
Children’s deaths have become political,
words from leaders quickly sound hypocritical …
My days are slippin, I be trippin. Over myself. Over my words. Sentimental thoughts.
Mental state. Lost forms abate. Can’t wait. I overcompensate.
Searching for you. Looking for new. A preview in lieu of success.
I’m a mess…
“When was the last time you felt alive?
When was the last time you felt truly human? When you weren’t doubled up with physical pain or mental rumination? How long has it been since you have felt happy or even merely fulfilled?”Read More
“You don’t hate your job it pays the bills,
protecting you from loss, and unforeseen ills,
Your boss, your co-workers, they are nice enough,
provided you do the right things and say the right stuff.
There is a promotion looming for you just up ahead,
great, provided the extra hours don’t leave you dead …”
This is less of a poem, and more of a personal mantra or prayer - I say it to myself daily. It has been coming to me, piece by piece, for years, but now feels complete. Each word and phrase has a deeper meaning - something I plan to elaborate on in a later blog post.Read More
Believe it or not, I wrote this story about you. Yes, you. The person reading this right now. True, I don’t know your name, where you were born or what you do for work, but that doesn’t really matter.
I am going to be honest. I like you, the real you that is. The you that exists beyond those small details.
”The Priest winced as he got down on to his knees and began to pray. The years of prostration had taken its toll on his old joints, yet he never complained. He recounted the stories, lit the candles and performed the rituals, as was dictated by his tradition ... “Read More
It turns out that birth and decay are not so different after all.
“So I shat myself again for the fourth time this week. I couldn’t help it. I don’t have the coordination or strength necessary to get myself to the toilet. Not that I could sit on it even if I did, I would likely fall in and drown! This is a world made for giants and I am now so small …“
"Walking down the street, you can't help but to succumb to the onslaught. Billboards flashing, speakers screaming.
“Newer”, “Faster”, “Stronger”, “Brighter”, “Safer”, “Thinner”, “Buy now”, “Upgrade, upgrade, UPGRADE!”Read More
The world is a mirror to your soul,
Your happiness will be shown on the faces of strangers,
Your fear will flicker in their eyes,
Your hope will express itself in the poetry you read, as too will your ills.
Why do you think it will be ok?
Because thinking so takes your anxiety away
How do you know it won’t happen to you?
Because knowing so is all you can really do
What makes you certain it won’t be a bad day?
Because you regularly get down on your knees and pray
"This day, like the last, will be the same. Arrive at the same time, wear the same clothes, do the same work. The conversations will be the same, the jokes the same, even the ‘unexpected problems’ are the same. Monotonous repetition. Day in, day out..."Read More
Sighing, Johnson sat down for what felt like the millionth time and began to fiddle with the plastic plant that was situated neatly in the corner of his desk. Another generic faux fern, identical in every way to the faux ferns that were to be found on most of the other desks on the floor..."Read More
Poetry was one of the first outlets that I found to express myself. Crafting specific thoughts into the confines of the structure, cadence, rhyme and rhythm of a poem helped me to understand and then let go of the ruminations in my mind.
Can't Quite Express - Don't Worry About Me - Creating A Monster
How can you say goodbye to a child?
"It wasn’t her death that was upsetting to me. It was the dying. I was glad when it was over. For her sake, and my own.
I know it sounds harsh, but that was five years. Five long years of cleaning up vomit, of late nights and close calls. Five years of broken commitments, false hopes, and missed opportunities..."