the longer I go on, the more I find my time was wasted
I was burning a candle at both ends but only felt the midde
like chasing your spear tip and forgetting it has a dull point….which you hit me with
and in the lines of bitterness and regret, I can only console myself with the fact that
today is the greatest day I can begin my life all over again
once upon a time, I too, wrote love letters or angry letters, or just letters meandering….to father time….and to other things….
below…my good friend Lewis has his own piece actually published
here it is and below: http://www.harpoonreview.com/lewis-mundt
A kind of forgiveness
“For the purest sound,you can’t sing at the notes;
you have to sing through them.”
There were nights I said yes
when I didn’t want to say yes,
nights my body floated above itself
and didn’t come back.
I like to imagine where I went instead.
Maybe wandering the city.
Maybe folded, tiny, into a watch
ticking deafening ticks. Maybe
I just went home.
But you have to do the work, they say,
if you’re going to do the work. So let
the body return and work:
There were nights I said yes
when I didn’t want to say yes.
Nights I opened my safest parts
to hands that would steal them
and helped pack the boxes.
To say it happened this way is,
in itself, a kind of forgiveness.
The body returns and I tell
the stories: the nights I said yes,
the nights I stayed, the nights
I did not.
I saw them recently, the hands.
They looked like hands, like
my hands. No claws. Things happen
and then they don’t anymore,
and leaving them behind, too,
is a kind of homecoming.
The body comes back into itself,
the work begins, something else
There were nights I did not
get to say no.
When I think of them now,
they’re a row of watches on a table,
all the batteries dead, all telling
the same time,
none of them today.
some years back, I found a great young poet
who spoke to the generation of our millennials yearning to find themselves….
her name is Lang Leav…though sometimes I find her works too fanciful, emo and self-doubting or deprecating…a few I like, and are timeless
there is a different kind of yearning, a 30,000 foot view …metaphysical and practical, yet ….enduring, less romantic….
I love the new star poet…Rupi Kaur
I hate needles with a passion.
recently I was diagnosed with diabetes…am trying to avoid drugs by losing weight…I’m doing good progress…but still hate the daily tests of glucose. I have partly disobeyed instructions and only take daily, not twice daily measurements….I fucking hate needles…
once…I slowly sobbed to myself after pricking myself one night….
I hate my body.
and I love my body.
but I hate it more.
all my life, I’ve been strong for others.
the base. the rock. the shoulder. the guide post
for once. today, I get to be weak.
and you get to see my vulnerable.
for once. today
I turn , to ask for help.
for once. today,
I will have to lean on you.
all my life,
I’ve had to be strong for others.
and had not been strong for myself.
all my life….