I was somewhere in the eighth grade. I was far from a student and far from someone with a good sense of comprehension.
I hated reading. I hated the books and the material. I hated homework even more, which is why I never seemed to do mine or any other schoolwork, for that matter.
English was never a strong subject for me. Then again, none of my subjects were either strong or interesting to me.
I hated school

It must have been closer to the end of the year. This was the first time I ever heard anyone read Hamlet or Shakespeare.

My English teacher was older. She was tough and she was not someone who I would look at and find attractive.
Until . . .

Years later.
I do not relate to the way things were, back when my times in yellow cabs swooshed through the streets in New York City.
I was well dressed and self-absorbed but more, I was blind because I knew the lies within were about to bubble over at any given moment.
You can lie to the world.
You can put on a brave face.
You can fix your smile and deny as much as you choose.

But the truth is always going to be the truth
I was always told to watch for the changes. I was told that the tides can turn and fortune can turn to unfortunate in a matter of minutes.

I am driving fast on the FDR, heading north and going Downtown while listening to a song called English Rose.
I like this.
I like hearing vintage songs from my past.
I like how this one reminds me of a movie called This Is England and the show which came around the movie released.

I love what this reminds me of.
I love the truth of life, which I feel when I think about my recent crash course with life and the fallouts of mistakes.

I never liked the classrooms or the feelings of anxiety that I’d have when walking in the classroom. I used to panic. I used to fear the worse and believe that something awful was about to happen. And usually something awful did happen.
I never liked the fears that came over me or the change in my chemistry when I was questioned or told that there was going to be a test.
God, the anxiety was awful.
I hated how it felt for me when standing up in front of the classroom. I hated being laughed at or bullied or yelled at by my teacher.. I swore to myself that I would never step foot ina classroom again,
I swore that I would never subject myself to this kind of fear or pain or worry.

It is strange to me now how my life has changed.
So have I.

I suppose the surprising or the funny thing about any of these entries is that I never assumed that this would be me.
I never assumed that I would show this part of myself or share the things that I have shared.

My past was poorly guarded and devoted to the unfortunate side of bad ideas.
I trusted people who were undeserving. And I gave myself away with the mistaken understanding that I somehow had to “sell” myself otherwise, who would care?
Who would like me?
Or who would want me in their life if I offered no benefits?

I am awake again and at the same time at the same place in my bed. I am thinking about too many things and so, it is hard to ease my mind or rest my breath enough to sleep.
So much happens in the span of time.
Too much has gone on between the distance of you and I.

I would rather be somewhere or anywhere else, —preferably someplace warm, like say, far from the world we know and far from the old snow and the slushy pavement along the streets in Downtown, Manhattan.
It amazes me though.
I am amazed at the places I’ve seen and the person I’ve been throughout my life.

It amazes me still, to notice the range between highs and lows or when money was tight or my dollars seemed more like a plethora of chances, which I hoped would never run out.

I am at an impasse at the moment.
I have been here before too.
Only now, everything seems different.
I swear, this is like walking down same street for decades
and now, somehow, everything is strange to me
or maybe I have outgrown myself (again)

I suppose I could call this one of my first summers in hindsight. Then again, I am letting this go out to the atmosphere without any kind of decoration or imagery to hide behind.

Foreshadowing is real. Yet it takes hindsight to have us look back and recognize that life shows us things, like windows of opportunities and warning signs that offer guidance.
But I was blind to this.
I was blind in some ways.
However, I was a visionary in other ways and somehow, I was too afraid to let myself see the life I wanted most.
I was too afraid to try and find out that something about me was wrong or otherwise undeserving, and that as close as I came to having what I want, in the end, I would always be close, but never victorious.

What is it now, I ask.
If you think or look back, what do you see?
How does our life look now that all the lights have faded?
The bridges we burn cannot light our way anymore.
Some people say that this leads them to feel “stuck” and if you ask me, nothing is worse than being “stuck.”

The dust of our past has settled down after a late afternoon rain and the brutal heat of summertime was broken by a storm to crack the humidity.
Do you understand this?
Do you remember the summer?
What about the storms that made the sky turn dark and crazy when the humidity was too much?

It is no more out of the question for you or I to revisit where we used to be than it is for us to question what made us go our own separate ways.
And still, I look back.
I think back about the days before stress took place. I think about the feelings that come when we are young and free and nothing is so critical or so important that we have to divert our attention to anything that deviates us from our path of personal redemption.

And what does this mean?
What does it mean to be redeemed or to find redemption?
What does it mean to lose ourselves and find what was lost, enough so that we can both redefine what it means to live life or to be young again.

The funniest thing is that I swore I would never grow old. Then again, this is something that young people say.
Or so, I suppose.
I swore that I would never walk the line or conform or be like the people I knew who became part of some kind of system that seemed to be lifeless or draining.

I never wanted to be the kind of typical 9-5 person who raced to get out of the front door and make it to work on time. I never wanted to be “that guy” while dressed in the typical or usual business attire with a newspaper tucked under one arm, a Styrofoam cup with hot coffee in the other and a briefcase in tow.  

I have loved these days, though gone, years ago and folded away as if to be placed in little folded envelopes to keep in my inside pocket of my so-called vest and keep them as keepsakes.
This is my worth, right here.
And yes, this is all I have now.

I have these moments of life when the sun was high, the wind was warm, and the feel from the ocean at my feet was enough to leave me with the feelings of satisfaction.
But to add, I have more to this which is far deeper than what the surface mind would catch or understand.
And so, if you wouldn’t mind and if I can lay down my mask and shield and put my swords away, I would like to share my softer side.
Or more, I would like to show you what I fear most and never dare to show anyone.

And so,
I don’t suppose that you meet many people in your life who take part in such a way
And so,
I suppose it would be hard for anyone to subscribe to the idea that heroes are real and that Angels can, or will, or that they do exist and appear to us, here on Earth.

And so,
If you don’t know then my guess is you can’t know.
You wouldn’t know what it feels like to be rejected or unwanted and then, somehow, someone like the above comes to you with no agenda other than to let you know that yes,  you do matter. 

I miss my walks. . .

I used to take these walks for a reason
I love the way early morning looks and how the sun comes up. I love the emptiness of the quiet streets in my town, which was otherwise sleeping at daybreak.
I love the way my feet felt when they hit the pavement, as if every step had its own individual purpose and yes, each step walked with intention.
I slammed my foot down as if to be determined, and I was more determined with each step.
This was great!
I swear.

This one goes out to all of those “overthinkers” out there
And this goes out to those who sit with their personal plagues and overthink their way into quitting before they even begin –

Write on, Poet.
This is my best advice

Snowfall.
This is the first significant one
of the season,
I assume today would be better spent
if I spent it where I want to be
instead of spending it here.

Today _
I go back to the roots of my dream
Poetry

and . . .
so . . .

I start with this –

This is written as somewhat of a mission statement.
So, I will understand if you choose to abort this now.
Then again, this is not your mission.
Not by any means.
So in fairness . . .
Your participation is not necessary.

I offer this as a personal interference to which I am intercepting the off-putting ideas of self-doubt.
Therefore, do not give up.
If the word never is real then so is forever.

This is to you, Ma . . .

I know . . .
. . . it’s been a while.
it’s been even longer since we walked or talked
or had the chance to sit and eat.

Mom.
No one knows what it’s like.
Or no, I assume that no one could know what it was like for me, or for you
But we do.

We know of course because we both lived through what we lived through.
And such is life, in another lifetime.
And though he changed the scenery and Act 1 became Act 2 and so on, time will always be the undefeated winner because time waits for no one . . .
“. . . it passes you by.”

The funny thing is I don’t miss much about my so-called yesterdays.
Least of all, I do not miss the times or the memories that no longer seem to benefit me.
So much has happened.
But yesterday is yesterday.

I am so far removed from who I was, regardless of how close I’d like to be
Or maybe it would be better to say there are parts of my past which seemed to have happened in another lifetime.

And suddenly, I am someone else and jettisoned to someplace warm, like say,
away from all the useless small talk and the nonsense that takes place in our everyday journey.
I have this dream.
That’s all.
It’s nothing huge or crazy.
This is more simple than it seems.
I swear it is.

This is from the heart, of course.
I swear that all of this is true and that all of this is unfiltered.
I have to do this, by the way.
I have to let this out, otherwise, emotions can spoil and my thoughts can turn against me.

I say all of this without thinking, as if to open the gates and let my thoughts run like hungry dogs who’ve been pent up for way too long.
And same as the dogs, I need to eat too.

I do not suppose that anyone hopes to find the obstacles ahead of them.
Yet, we all have them.
Obstacles, I mean.

I suppose if we could have it easy, then we would choose to have it easy and thus, none of us would struggle.
No one would hurt.
No one would experience the lows or fall into the pitfalls that bring us to our knees.
No.

This was written to you in pieces.
I kept notes of my thoughts throughout the night and compiled them together after hours of up and down, and sleepless trips to the bathroom.
I suppose there could be different meanings behind this.
For example, snow is falling at the moment.
I like this.
Maybe the snowfall is less of a sign. Or maybe this is only a sign to me.
Maybe I think about the way snow can cause two people to be closer.
Or perhaps the snow is a simple thing and nothing more than happenstance. Or better yet, I suppose we make this simple enough to all this the first snowfall of the New year.

Why complicate things?
Or overcompensate?
Let the process be what the process will be.
But this is what scares me.

Before I go onward, I recognize that I am and that I will forever be a fan.
I am a fan of different things. But more, I am a fan of things that make me think or feel. I am a fan of things that drive me to be unafraid to change or walk against the grain. I am a fan of anything that makes me move or causes me to choose and find my own path.

Before I move farther with this, I have to say that yes, I am a fan.
Music. . .

The best saying I have ever heard is “sometimes being bad feels pretty good.”
And I do confirm. Sometimes being bad does feel pretty good.

I stand behind the belief that sometimes you have to defy the rules.
You have to go against the odds. You have to experience what it feels like to lose your mind.
I swear.
You have to howl.
You have to scream and most of all, you have to dance until sweat pours from your body.
This is a must.

I love the feelings I have when sitting on rooftops.
I always have and I always will . . .
I have always liked this, since youth, or since the time when I realized
that my thoughts needed more than just my bedroom to settle down.

I can see how our thoughts can be infinite, like the stars
and I can see how our dreams can be ongoing –
like the universe.

You know, I was a kid once.
I had dreams. I wondered of the moon was really made of green cheese.
I wondered if there was a cow that really jumped over the moon –
and if there was, I always wondered what happened when the cow landed.
I mean, that’s a far drop from way up there, to way down here,

This one is not new.
Then again, everything I write to you is current, as in now and taking place as we speak.

The question itself is old and the question is this:
What would you say to yourself if you could go back to you at any age?

My answers have changed over the years.
Then again, so have I and so has my motivation.

I see them.
all the time
the youth
the young
or some may call them
the so-called disenfranchised youth
and the misunderstood, or the unusual.

I see them and think
how this usually brings us around
to the reason why
there are differences
at the different tables
in the school’s cafeteria.

Soon enough
the sun comes closer to the north
and the red breasted robins
will show up to signify proof
of spring.

This means
it is only a short ways away
from summer.

I suppose the worst thing to be
is to be the sum
of someone else’s assumptions,
or at least, I assume
the worst I can be is the sum
of someone’s conclusion.

Never be the beast
that someone else
claims you to be
and before anything else
never be the sum
of someone’s predictions.
Never do this
unless, of course
they predict something better
than the predictions
which you have predicted
for yourself.

Verse 1:

Life comes
and I shake my head.

It amazes me.
All of this

Everything from the ground up
or from the grass roots of how we are
or where we come from; all of this
from the floor of our existence
and upwards to the limitless sky –
all of our “everything”
is amazing to me.

Still,
as beautiful as the world may be
and as amazing as the sunsets can appear
I understand.

The summer is gone
and it’s been a minute
since the warmth from the sun
was enough to bronze the skin

I know . . . 
My feelings for the seaside moments
will be with me until the day that I die.
I’m sure.
Of course, I’m sure.

At the same time,
if it were my choice
people like you and I would never die
because the truth is –
I could live forever
wherever the tides come in
and out
and allow me to forget
that you and I were once
forgotten.

Since it is so
that one became two
and two became four, then of course,
I understand the aftermath
of what takes place
when we decide to walk away.

Everyone has a past, you know?
Everyone has a history
and everyone has a story
that sits behind their secrets
or keeps us quiet
even when we scream.

In the beginning
I suppose we all started
with the best of intentions
at least, I can say this is true
in most cases.
Or, so
I hope.

1)

Silly kids . . .

It is really no point in
reviving the arguments
or fighting the fights
just to keep them alive
when essentially
they mean nothing.

Literally . . .
. . . nothing.

One became two
and two became four
and so on
and somehow,
age takes place
and here I am now
much older than I am younger.

One by one,
the world turns around the sun
another time.

Verse 1:

The concept of last night
means everything and anything
to me.
This entails anything that
I can dream about
which means that anything and everything
is within my reach.

But then again
hindsight is always perfect
especially, after the aftermath
unfolds.

Please Note:

This journal will be written more as an artform or in different forms of poetry. Either way, all of my entries will come from my streams of consciousness.
No thoughts to the words.
No acting or pretending.
Just writing.
Just words from the heart.
That’s all.

I feel this; therefore, I’ll write this.
And this is my plan.