Made up stories to keep warm countless nights, wasted lives slinking into other skin,
All grown men, turns out, are really, still just boys dreaming of being a race car driver.
We look for ways to distract ourselves from these cold grey days, walling ourselves in
Frozen lakes of silenced quarantined promise, praying this spring thaw will revive her.
9.4.20 - letters without addresses #1
Hey there, Psyche. Damn, I know it’s been forever
Decades passed in silence, then only a shitty letter
Though they say an asshole never really recovers
This ass hopes you found far better friends and lovers
Whisky brown hair, brilliant smile, the fairest blue eyes
Sharper and brighter than all the stars in Southern skies
Just one second, this ain't one of them pining love songs
More a long-waiting tattered lists of souls I’ve done wrong
One bad night, drunkenly convinced I’d been strung along
I became another toxic creep, another entitled hard-on
Flashes of trembling hands, tears took up shop in my head
But I blacked out enough to not remember what all I said
When really you needed a best friend, not a jealous loser
Instead, I walked away, wanting only to not exist to you
It’s been years since then, paid in therapy reckonings
Took a while to learn, romance starts by looking within
But still, what’s worse, digging up the past or living lies
What hurts, late-offered amends or broken goodbyes
For a victim, how long makes it too late to apologize?
Male-privileged obsession is just intimidation in disguise
So, years later, here’s the truth that only matters now
The important thing I hope I one day get to say to you
If allowed, I have random chance and courage to do
Psyche, you deserved better than I ever gave to you
My selfish words and actions burned our bridges
There aren’t any good reasons you should forgive
’Sides, justifying turns into gaslighting before long
I’ll move along, just sorry that I hurt you. I was wrong
6.2.20 - Pandemic Poetry #1 - Better Men and Broken Kings
Stay safe in these hectic moments, loves
Sit down, wash your weary hands clean
Your tired shoulders, bloodied and battered
Choking on the pale embers from fellow men
Still gasping for air, begging, you tell stories
Desperate is the need to be heard and received
Dare us to look in the mirror’s harsh light
Reflected back, something isn’t quite right
Beaten, blackened eyes that have seen
People pleading, loving, despite our sins
Warning, crying for whomever next reads
No one wins while greed and hate prevail
Never stop hoping, never just give in
Treat each other better, make art and love
So the universe will celebrate our dreams
And deeds of Better Men and broken kings
*due to uncertainty on how to best utilize social media, I have elected to not include tags that might be needed for providing important information regarding the current crisis facing the world, but I’ll post the picture below from Atlanta, 2016. I was there and witnessed people peacefully marching for equality that has been promised for centuries yet never truly delivered. I hope we find a way through this and in the meantime, I’ll be here, listening, writing down stories. I would love to hear yours and share a few tears.