This is my mission in prose.
To calm all your worries and woes.
Just for a little while,
I’d like to beguile.
Your mind. Your senses. Your heart.
But first, let me start.
First, give me breath.
First, a place to get things off my chest.
For my tongue to speak.
For my body to rest.
And even if only in jest—
Let me make this request.
That you give me your all.
At least your current attention.
Not for me, but for this invention.
This life we call precious.
What we seek out and yearn for.
The reason we press on despite all we’ve hoped for
And not received.
Not perceived.
Not even really imagined that we’d
Ever need.
Yet we continue to work our hands till they bleed.
We continue to walk down these dark empty streets.
Knowing that nothing we find will complete
And put back together, the parts that we’ve severed
Parts of our lives that we’ve given for better,
And for worse.
The worst times, what a curse.
The best times—not yet.
The best times—we forget.
The best times we lose when our thoughts are a mess.
When our hearts are undressed.
When our lights are suppressed.
And only remember the bad.
Letting go of all the good times we’ve had.
It’s so sad.
This condition of woman and man.
The condition of life as I stand
Here before you to offer a question:
Why do you keep your life in progression?
Why do you run from the past, if your lessons
Come from there?
Come from where you have been.
Come from the times when you’ve lay down and asked
Why am I living my life with a mask?
Is it a mask?
Or is it who you’ve become?
After feeling such pain for so long that you’re numb?
It may seem dumb.
It may seem elementary.
But it’s something to think of.
And it’s something that hit me
Like ten tons of bricks.
When I realized that words can break bones just like sticks.
When I realized that my life,
For better or worse,
Has effect without meaning.
Has felt pain without bleeding.
Has passed tests without cheating.
Has survived despite needing.
Has seen hope—sometimes fleeting.
And has continued to be
With a heart that’s still beating.
So now for the calming part.
I’m still here—so are you.
Despite our emotions, conditions, and truths
That we all choose to hide
That we all may be scared of.
That we all might embrace
If the world would just let us.
The truth—the real truth—for better or worse,
Is the world doesn’t hold the key to undoing this curse.
The world doesn’t care if you if you live, or you die.
So the truth is, it’s up to you—are you living a lie?
Or do you just need to own it, and learn, and then try?
A Poet’s Qualm 