Abstract: The Things I Want To Do

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Downstairs from my bedroom is a living space,

with two leather couches, a larger screen TV, and a few colorful posters on the wall.

It’s humble and comfortable.

And if I was set,

if I was where I want to be,

I’d be happy.

But as each day passes,

I hate that room all the more.

Every second I waste on one of those couches,

staring at that dumb electric box,

I fail.

And, I hate failing.

I hate that I waste my time,

and in this way I recognize the words of an ancient.

The things I want to do, I do not.

And the things I don’t want to do,

I do.

Fuck.

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Abstract: Prayers For My Country

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They taught the kids about the Fathers,

that they owned slaves,

and repressed women,

and slaughtered natives,

and made piles of money,

and went to war,

and polluted the air and seas.

They taught them to loathe the people who built and created and sacrificed,

because they had the audacity to be imperfect.

Bastards.

One day history will come for them,

because they taught the children to hate the pioneers and inventors,

to hate their bodies,

and anyone who makes a profit.

They will be known the Destructionist.

And I pray America has the strength to endure them.

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Abstract: Nature Is Nature

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A fat, grey squirrel with a puffy tail watched me hike up a hill by the creek,

and when I notice him, he darted for a hole in the middle of the path.

How odd, I thought.

For all the squirrels I observe in these woods,

I don’t see any nests in the trees.

They must want to be nearer to water and food.

Too hot in the summer too.

That’s why they dig holes all over this park!

And proud of myself for solving a great mystery,

I dubbed these squirrels to be Grey Ground Squirrels and sauntered on.

Today, as the sun slide behind the mountain,

I looked out my back door, a big sliding window,

And caught a life and death scene.

A cat was climbing a skinny black oak while a grey squirrel chattered and hissed.

And not just a cat.

A spotted and short tailed, bobcat.

The squirrel tried to lure the bobcat away, but for naught.

The hungry feline slipped into its nest,

and the hopeless parent dashed away.

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Abstract: Paying And Loving

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Everything you treasure,

came with a price.

Be it your time, your money, your emotions and life force,

each person you love cost you something.

And the more you paid, the more you love,

and want to love.

This is the way life works.

So let us stop wishing to win a lottery,

or have our debts paid by someone else.

Your mission is to keep on paying the bill,

whenever it’s due.

To love and give and spend every drop of life you’ve got.

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Abstract: Real Love Suffers

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Real love is nothing like what I see in movies or porn.

It’s not the lusty feeling before a release,

Not an enjoyment of a pretty face or kind smile.

Love isn’t chemical or hormonal.

And, there’s nothing wrong or unholy about sex or attraction*.

Both are good and made from the image of God and all his Holy ways.

But real love, true love, is long-suffering,

or as is described in the vows “in sickness and health, good times and bad, till death.”

Real love is a wife watching her husband battle cancer to his death, being by his side through every treatment and pill and when he departs.

Real love is never giving up, not when all of life has been cruel and unkind,

knowing what they say is all bullshit.

What matters is the hope in our response.

Because love- the kind we choose above circumstance, offense, or emotion- doesn’t fail.

*Just in case y’all got confused. Lust and porn are bad. Attraction and sex not bad :)

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Abstract: Resurrection

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The boy sat and scribbled and felt a joy inside him.

He played and experimented with the colors and lines,

and knew not of the world or judgment or fear.

And maybe, as is said, he had talent or something akin to it.

Perhaps he was average.

But on the carpet, without perspective or worry,

the child was content and loved his life without need or a care.

And then, someone said he had a talent,

giving birth to expectation, a burden yoked to his back.

And the scribbles had to be something,

and the scribbles of others were better than his,

and the boy lost the fun of color and lines amid the throng of demands.

Eventually, while still young, he set down his colors and gave up scribbling,

to be a man.

And the young one became a man, and the man an older man,

and now scribbles and lines were only meant to be hobbies.

But not this man.

Not this older man with greying hair and cheap drug-store glasses.

He decided to go back to scribbling, and fun,

and all the joy lost many years ago.

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Abstract: What If I Live To Be 100

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Mr Death has been such a part of my life,

I consider him part of the family,

coming for friends and relatives a like,

from the earliest time I can remember,

and very present today.

As a child, I let him in,

to my heart, my dreams and hopes,

the way I view life and how I live.

And as older loves began to stand on the block,

lined up and ready (or not),

seems like their time is short.

And I worry and spend my days bound by the fear of the inevitable visit.

I know Mr will come for me too,

so I cry and weep for the years I wasted,

and struggle to direct my steps,

to make the most of whatever days I have left.

But, what if?

What if I live to be 100, not 60.

What if I find a good wife,

father children,

and grandchildren, and more.

What if I live through whatever wars and violence and oppressions to come?

What if my life isn’t winding down, but just getting started?

What IF…I stopped worrying about dying in 20 years, and stopped trying to fit all my possibilities through the narrow slit in between now and then?

What…If?

Oh my, what a glory and a gift.

To hope and dare to believe,

To live and live and live, and then LIVE EVEN MORE.

Have I not repented of my slave ways?

Sought the Lord?

Honored my parents?

And pointed my heart to what is good and holy?

Yes!

Imperfectly, but yes!

Then let me eat for life, not death!

Let me breath for eternity,

not personal fear or crisis of the moment.

Let my soul sing and imagination dance,

and let me break my blinders of shame and devotion to death.

The Lord is my God,

and I will not fear death or when he comes for me.

And Jesus, I repent,

for allowing death to be my lord,

the one who dominated my thoughts and choices.

I want you to dominate my notions and emotions,

to be hopeful and full of joy,

to believe and live by faith,

to smile at pain and stand strong against every wind bold enough to rush my direction.

And I will no longer worry about when Mr Death will come for me,

he is your servant after all,

and so am I.

When my day comes, to go home forever,

let me smile as I cross the stage into the great Beyond.

But for now and until that day,

I will live and work and plan in this moment,

present and forward, living in each moment rather than

broken and afraid of what’s to come.

I’m going to live to be 100.

Today is the day I began acting like it.

“For as a man thinks within himself, so he is.” - Proverbs 23:7

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Abstract: A Fool’s Caution

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“Are you sure about this one?” they asked,

in a passive southern manner meant to communicate caution or concern.

Wouldn’t have mattered anyway,

nothing said in love would’ve landed on my life.

Because I was too high on the feelings,

of being wanted,

of being held,

and my ears clogged with everything I wanted to hear.

For once in my life, I was somebody to someone who wasn’t my momma,

How could my friends be so wrong?

How could this go wrong?

Then the lies began to mount,

and evolved into ongoing gaslighting,

my fears and instincts in error.

Then her kind words faded to darkness,

and all she wanted was my time and resources.

Which, I gave.

Because, I loved her.

Because, I was a man, destined to suffer this woman.

And then, I suffered her fists.

Yes, her fists.

And it became clear,

this demon had no boundaries,

or limits to her depravity.

And by the grace of God,

I walked away before my seeds sprouted,

and rooted me forever to my foolish choices.

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Abstract: Living M5-3

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I’ve penned pages of words theses last few days,

but nothing worth writing,

or remembering.

My biggest terrors and greatest fears,

leaking out of me onto the paper and screen,

in raw, uncaged form.

And now set beside me like an old friend,

but not my friend,

always my enemy.

And like a scared little boy drags his blanket from the closet.

I keep dragging them around,

From day to day,

in meetings and phone calls,

hidden behind forced smiles and worthless chit chat.

Feels like I’ll never shake them,

the worst of my worst,

the oldest lies holding hands with that icy cold sadness,

rotten and nauseating,

the vile shit that collects,

At the bottom of my bottomless pit.

Blessed are those who cry and grope in the dark,

for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.

Amen.

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Abstract: Poke-r

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The thing about Texas Hold’em is sometimes, you’re dead and you’re don’t know you’re dead.

Maybe you’ve got a pair of aces and the flop gave you another,

And now you think your three aces are hot shit,

but they ain’t.

The dude across from you has nines,

and the board gave him two more.

But you bet big, confident and asured.

He raises.

You bet big again, trying to run him off,

but he raises again.

So doubt starts to form, you see two nines, but you go all-in.

He calls.

You flip your aces with a dramatic flare,

but he begins to rake the pot.

Suddenly you see the truth, and a searing sensation of loss and regret races through your heart,

the hand was lost before it was played.

You got played.

They take everything you had to give, and now you’ve got nothing.

This is what it feels like to love a woman who doesn’t love you back.

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Abstract: Weak

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Today I typed the words feels weak to need encouragement,

and I immediately felt as weak and vulnerable as the words on the screen.

How codependent?

Be careful expressing doubts or anxiety, bitches don’t like guys who have feelings or strong emotions.

Why can’t you be more like those men who are cutthroat, stab-a-dude-in-the-back-to-get-ahead types?

Just go deliver pizza. That’s your best option.

This world isn’t meant for men like me.

It’s not designed for the honest and the humble,

or the compassionate.

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Abstract: Stupid Song

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A song plays, one tied forever to a time and a place,

And I am there, again.

Walking through the oaks and pines, down the dirt path,

sobbing and hurting, hoping and unwilling to let go.

And though I sit in a noisy coffee shop, three years after,

tears form and I turn from the others, to hide my emotion,

forever tied to a song and a heart-breaking moment.

A ghost haunting my heart.

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