For What Words Can Never Give Their Due

I am forever grateful your love was mine to lose,
For I still love you.

And you’re in Boston
And I’m okay

I’m okay.

Thank you for that
For what words can never give their due.

I am sorry I didn’t get to know you better
That I didn’t listen more,
Didn’t implore your beautiful heart to open all the way,
Didn’t give you the safety to

And my heart breaks remembering all the times I made you cry and my heart didn’t bat an eye.
Breaks.

I know you were a very important part of my life;
You are a huge piece of what makes me whole.

And I was toxic to you.
Toxic.

But I hope you have a piece of solace in me, some quiet comfort in what was and what will be

I just can’t believe it all

We were just kids, really
Okay, maybe just me
But we were still growing up
We still are.

And I don’t know what closure looks like for us
How to heal the wounds we made
But I think it has something to do with time and age

I just can’t believe that this is all there is

I just wish there were an easy way to let go
It’s almost as if I am asking for your help

What ending can we write?
Or is this it?
Tell me what I can do
I owe it to you

For what words can never give their due

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Three Ditties on Love

Ghosted

I want to scream at the top of my lungs
Burst them and lie down and die
My life is passing me by
And I look in the rearview
And I see the graveyard of lives I’ve lived
hers, and hers, and hers, and hers, and hers;
I was:
I was hers.
Before I got ghosted,
Before they lost my number a long time ago.

These shipwrecks still live in my heart
And they make it hard to look ahead
How can my otimism persist?
I live in a world where some days I just want to **** ** ******.

But this is life.
As Tom Petty told us:
The good ol days might not return
So, I’ll give her a diamond,
Knowing that the rocks might melt and the sea might burn

Postscript to an ex lover

Suppose you read this,
No, not you you spineless traitor.
You, my sweet schoolteacher

I know that we sometimes still text,
Or rather, you mostly text me back
And I honestly don’t know why
So I am asking you anonymously to just let me go
I can’t be your hero

Because if you keep me on a line
I’ll always be there
Bunny, you know how much I care
And I know I can’t be the guy at the alter
I dropped you from heights too high for that

But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be your secret,
The weekend you pen in your calendar next March
But that can’t be
Because I just remembered
I wasn’t good enough.

Note to a girl I will love in return oneday

I don’t believe in love anymore
So, if you love me, hang tight
Hold on; bear with my Baltic heart

I promise not to push you away,
But I won’t pull you in close either

I am burying my love this winter like roses
So, if next spring we meet and I am frozen,
Please set your love to defrost


Note: Confessional poetry pains the ego; although, it greatly doth act as a balm to the soul; and, ultimately, this is what we need; for in our age there is an excess of art catering to egos, i.e., every instagram poet writing those trash odes to the self-imfatuated. Ex: ‘She was free and wild, her soul shone like a thousand suns. Even in darkness, it could not be denied.’ (Add centered text alignment and faux typewriter fontface.) That is not poetry – that is marketing – written by wanksters for wankers. Real poetry bleeds, even if that blood be a balm. /rant.

In Darkness, Light

It’s been a long time,
A long time running in the woods
Crying on tree stumps,
Mourning yesterday

These shadow games I’ve played
Setting the stakes against myself
The yields of low expectations,
Leading me time and time again to the precipice of my own demise
Thinking, this can’t be life

I never meant to become who I was
I never meant to cut the wings from angels
Never meant to live in the clutch of vice
Lying to maidens fair, far, and faithless
So distant from the firm clutch of soft thighs

I am one who is has been unfaithful to his own religion, foe to himself
Woe to he who he denies the existence of his own demons,
Who beside himself finds not a friend
There are no words that can speak these inaudible pains

But try I must,
For this indifference has taken me down,
Beneath the depths I swam at twenty-three
Seven years later and I’m still breaking stones
Famished desires gnawing at my lonely bones
We once had a home,
Yeah and yadda yadda yadda,
I can’t look back down that road

Tonight I miss the grandfathers I never got to know
As a grandchild I am an orphan,
Dying for the love of ghosts
Living for the love of a family I don’t yet know

And from here, the quiet, barren shore,
Where will I go
What dreams flow in the August breeze

Tell me G-d
Promise me more
Show me I can trust myself
That I don’t have to go to bed hurting tonight
That in darkness,
I will find light


Note: I have a fairly large number of drafts saved – I do not know how many, but I suspect the number considerable. This was written this past week, and, being that it still resonates, I am publishing it tonight (5th Sept) as I lay awake, too lazy to sleep. As far as those other drafts, perhaps they will be published in a volume when I have attained the kind of literary fame to warrant such a thing, perhaps, even, posthumously. But if there is one thing I have learned this year, it is that telling myself I will go back and complete an incomplete piece of poetry or prose is a damned lie. – Law

Mindsight: Going Back to The Start

The imagination is the greatest ability we have – for what may be born of dreams extends far beyond the reaches of the eye, which is limited by our reality – yet the bounds of reality extend far beyond the morrow, all the way into the clouds and past the horizon. Mindsight – our ability to see past today, past practicality, beyond the abyss of fear and the cove of doubt – this is the key that unlocks doors where others see walls. It is through this magic of evolution that we may dream while we are awake, seeing what others do not.

If you think this is the stuff of mere daydreaming, fancies and whatnot, then you, my friend, are seriously shortchanging yourself.

Things do not happen by mere chance: that couple that is going to make love tomorrow on the yacht of their dreams, you think that is mere fortune? No. That, my friends, is the product of a dream, a plan, a goal, and, of course, hard work.

The problem is, most people confine their dreams to their resources rather than letting their dreams detemine them. If your dreams do not guide your reality, as a needle does a thread, your reality will guide your dreams. Unfortunately, most people lose their ability to dream – both through lack of use and the normal setbacks of life. We’ve all given up at some level.

That last sentence is heartwrenching, isn’t it.

You see – dreams need to be curated, protected, and evolved, but the difficulty is that we live in a society that applies immense pressure on us; our values, our goals, and our desires are constantly being dictated to us by our peers, our parents, and ultimately our fraglie and insecure egos.

I hit a point last year when I realized my dreams weren’t even mine.

They belonged to an ex or someone I felt I needed to best, or my wish to gain approval from someone who doesn’t matter. Ayn Rand was right; selfishness is a virtue. Luckilly, I can still afford to be selfish: no wife. No kids. No limits. It sounds absurd but it’s true; if you’re out there and you’re feeling sorry for yourself about being single, you are seeing it all wrong. No, you can write your own ticket.

But most of us, single or taken, struggle with this – with determining what is we really, truly want.

The irony, and the key to unlocking the mystery within us, lies in the past; before society replaced our dreams with things: flat TV’s, great shoes, nice cars, a great place, this is adult shit. Children, on the other hand, know better. We all know better. We’ve just forgotten.

Go back in time. Remember when you were a child. Remember that thing you did that made the hours pass like minutes. The thing that dissolved reality into a mere sidenote. That; the call you stopped answering a long, long time ago still lives within you, and if you pick it back up, it will ring as true today as it did on afterschool afternoons twenty years ago. It’s 1995, and you are on the floor in your room looking at a book, feeling like you just set foot on the moon. Fast forward ten years and you were working in a call center not even realizing what happened to you. Five years later and you just wanted what others had. It’s a sad story, but it’s the story of an adult life. Wrought down by the weight of living, we forgot what we loved. We traded in our dreams for flat screen TVs, twenty inch rims on our leased SUVs.

It is time to reach back in time and take back the light that once kindled your soul.

“Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.” – Carl Jung

Awaken. Please.

I am begging you, as the pain I brought on my soul has long begged of me.

I write this because today I am taking full responsibility for my childhood dreams: I own them once again, and I am no longer owned by the pressure of society, a pressure no child really knows.

When I was a kid, I loved nothing more than books and boats. I read every book in my school library on sailing, even Kon-Tiki. Dove, Spray, Adrift – you name it. I remember one day, while reading a story of sailors eating hard-tack at sea, just wishing I had some old, stale bread in my kitchen. I just wanted to taste it, I wanted to live it. And for a time, I did.

But then life happened. That drug of love, and the desire to be cool, to be admired, the desire to admire myself for the things society upholds as measures of happiness and success took over.

I’ll save you my autobiography, but at thirty I am once again as bitten by those same bugs as I was at eleven.

It’s an incredibly beautiful and healing thing. This, my friends, is as true to myself as I can be.

Books and boats.

P.s. We may know the dreams most suited to us by the ease and comfort in which we can clearly imagine ourselves in them. So, try them on, until, just like Goldilocks, you find the one that feels just right. So chill out; you had it all figured out as a child. You need only remember. Now go get lost in it. Once more. For your own sake. Don’t let yourself down another day more. You read this, and I wrote this, for a reason.