What I Am

I tried so hard
Not to be you
Not to lose myself in your legacy
Yet here I sit
Branded "Monster" by some
Flawed to others

So it seems
No matter how hard I try
The sins of the father
Shall be visited
Upon the Son

With no concept of words like
"Fair" or "Deserving" or "Deliverance"
I'm continually bombarded with reminders
That I came to beBecause of you

All the reasons I can't be you
And more importantly
All the reasons I am
I've run so far to escape you
 I've denied the fundamental aspects of myself

Denying the truth of who I am,
What I want and how to love
Simply because
I never wanted to live like you
To be like you

Like a poor marksman,
I missed the target
And I see you
Everytime I look in the mirror
Its your eyes I see

When my heart aches
With the loss I live with
Consequential to my own choices
I think,this is what you must have felt
Deep Down and never Said

Until I remember
That such a thought
Such compassion
Such empathy
Its beyond you

And suddenly I can breathe
I am not you
I am flawed
I am imperfect
Maybe even a monster

But I'm alive
In the knowledge of who I am
How I came to be here
And I can say it
Definitively and finally

I am not you.
I am not the sum of your wrongs
Or even my own
I can say goodbye
and live.

After My House was Robbed

From the minute we're born
Our life as a statistic begins
255 babies born every minute and
Every step of our development from that point on
Is programmed and categorized
For easy comparison and reference
Apgar score, head circumference
Height, weight
How fast we grow . . . or how slow
From the minute we're born
We either fit in or we don't
We're either normal or abnormal
And every minute after realizing this
Is spent avoiding statistics
"I don't want to be a statistic" we shout, while
57 million Americans have mental Health disorders
      (and there are 55 Million registered republicans)
How quick can we say
"I'm not crazy" when
1 out of 2 people abuse alcohol
Let's drink to not being the one with the problem!
4 out of 5 of us do drugs
Well, pass the dutchie because I'm. Number. Four.
1 out 5 children witness domestic violence
So maybe that's why I still shake when someone wants to fight
3 million homes will be robbed
1 out of every 6 women will be raped
      (1 out of 10 men)
216 people will die while this poem is being read

The question is, Does that matter?

How many sunrises will be seen?
How many sunsets?
How many first kisses will be enjoyed and
How many last kisses will linger in memory?
How many job interviews will be nailed and
How many pink slips doled out?
When will success happen and
When will its relevance be questioned
How many books will be read?
How many poems written?
How much love will be fallen into and
How many dances will be danced?
     (In the rain?)

From the minute we're born
Our life as a statistic begins
And we remain one until we die
This is the way of things
Birth followed by death
The part in the middle?
That's called life and
Life is now and
Life  . . .
Is still to come.

The Audience I've Never Met

Lost!
On the road forever
     (or at least it feels like it)
Not arriving; False starts and detours
Roadblocks in the way
Like so many crumpled papers in a wastebasket
The problem is, I'm not writing for me
I'm writing for an audience I've never met
And what I want to say is so much more personal and
Not at all appropriate for polite conversation
immediately after introduction
I was inspired by the muse in the ether
Giving me the words when I've got nothing remotely interesting to say
Telling me to share my pain
Like a dirty needle in a back alley
Encouraging me to lay bare my angst
Like a catholic in a confessional
Demanding I convey what its like
To see the shame of every memory I never wanted
Reflected in your eyes
How much it hurts when your favorite poems
     (the ones that make you cry)
and the songs you sing the loudest are all echoing your pain
With the words you could never find on your own,
Bouncing off the walls of my soul
Shouting your hatred and loss
Until it becomes my own and
I live with my shame and your hatred as my neighbors
And then the words come
Hot and stinging
Painting an ugly picture that seems
Somehow hauntingly beautiful
I am equal parts excitement and fear
When I come to the Audience I've never met
As a supplicant
Begging for empathy
Pleading for understanding
From someone
Anyone who can say
You are not alone in this
Because I wonder
What would that be like?
So I relate my story through verse
Waiting for something, anything
And then I understand
I'm writing for myself  
Sharing with an audience I've never met
And if art, like beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder
Then it is my honor to share mine with
The Audience I've Never met

The Natural Consequence of Love

No matter what

Changes Change
And Pain is Pain

Summed up by strike and bruise

Not all scars are seen

Not all pain is clean

The brightest day

Becomes

The Blackest night

Which is

Darkest before the dawn

Life is metaphor

Simile and rhyme

No reason?

Beauty is reason

Love is treason

Accept is all with

Poise dignity and

Strength of birth

Right in the end

Wrong in the middle

Time’s arrow kills Cupid’s love

Discordant entropy is reality

The end of time’s beginning

Mystery

Solved the problem

Build the wall

Protect yourself

Protect your love

No

One gets in

All becomes one

Becomes none

The natural consequence

Of

Love.