Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

It’s as far away as the ends of the ever expanding universe, but also here, in this tiny, 1 bedroom apartment. Hope is always here, you just have to look.

“You know, it’s a big universe out there, so giving up, when there’s no limit to what can happen, that seems a bit premature, wouldn’t you say?”

~But the universe doesn’t care, right? Just because it’s big and limitless doesn’t mean it
has to have carved out a special piece or place or moment just for me~

“You’re right, the Universe doesn’t owe us anything, so there very well might not be a special plan in place for everybody. But that also means there’s no reason for the universe not to have something special planned for us all, right?”

~That something special could have already come and gone. When I look back, think
about the past, I see all those tiny miracles I took for granted. I wasted time and money,
friends and family, and I have nothing to show for it. So why should I think there is more? Or rather, even if there is more, I know I don’t deserve it, so I shouldn’t accept it~

“Ah, you’re assuming the universe thinks like you do? That it has to be balanced? That if it gave you a first chance, and a second chance, that it couldn’t possibly be the right thing to do to give you a third, fourth, one millionth chance?”

~I’m saying the universe is unbalanced, so it’s up to all of us caught up in the chaos to
set rules and limits and impose the rule of law~

“And for you, that rule of law includes a provision that dictates when a person should stop trying?”

~A person should stop trying when trying would be harder than giving up~

“So it’s a matter of effort? It would take effort to start over, to walk back down the paths you’ve already traveled. And it would hurt, to re-live all those moments.”

~It will hurt either way, but giving up will hurt a little less. So really it’s all about pain

“Giving up will hurt less in the short term, probably, but it offers no chance towards recovery. Trying will hurt, so much so that you won’t be able to hide it at all, but it comes with a special bonus offer; hope.”

~I’m not interested in a bundle deal here. I’m not one to invest their funds into something that might never pan out. I’m careful; methodical. I won’t live on the hope of some hope~

“Hope gets our expectations up, and if those expectations aren’t met it’s crushing. That is a scary prospect, for sure, but there are ways to mitigate that risk. Friends to hold you up and catch you if you fall, family to call at any given moment for any number of reasons, and most of all you still have you, and in the end you don’t want to fail. You might think you deserve to fail, and actively seek out the choices that will ensure you fail, but if you have some hope, even if it’s just hope for some hope, you will still have you.”

~I don’t think I want me~

“I think you are afraid of yourself, which isn’t the same thing as rejecting yourself. You’re afraid that how you see yourself is the only you that exists. But there are so many yous. The you who sings in the shower, using a bottle of shampoo as a microphone. The you who always let’s others merge into your lane during rush hour. The you who might not feel any self-love, but is nonetheless loved by many.”

~I didn’t ask them to love me~

“And yet they do, because they aren’t bound by your rule of law. They have the choice, and they choose to love you, regardless of anything and everything you think.”

~I don’t owe them anything, I didn’t ask for anything, so I’m not obligated to do anyt..~

“You aren’t obligated to do a Goddamn thing! Not for them! You don’t owe it to them, at all! You owe it to yourself! You owe it to every version of you, from the child you were to the adult you fear in your reflection! You owe them!”

~..I wouldn’t even know where to begin.~

“You don’t need to decide on a where, or a how, or a when to being, you just begin.”

~Just like that? It’s that simple? It’s that easy? To forget everything and start over?~

“You don’t need to forget, you don’t have to start over again at zero. You can just start.”

~And what happens, when I start?~



Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics

“I gave you a world of words, not leaving myself a single letter. So now I am speechless, and you’re just drowning in alphabet soup.”

I wanted to take my time with each word I wrote for you. I wanted to be as deliberate as possible, so everything had to have the perfect amount of weight. When you would read my letter you’d be able to hear my voice, like I was lying right there beside you, You’d have no doubt, even for a second, that you weren’t loved. I wanted to give my world of words to you every single day.

I wanted to give you so much…but I was pretty stupid, huh?

I was so lost in thoughts of you that I actually lost my way and stopped wondering if my words were what you truly wanted. Before I knew it I had given you everything, without ever asking if it was to much. I left myself empty, and expected you to fill me up, but that wasn’t your job. If I had taken even a second to think things through I would have seen, would have realized…

I wasn’t giving you love and care, I was giving you the world, and with the world comes gravity, and it just weighed you down, didn’t it? I gave you a world to balance on your shoulders and still wanted to give you more. And so I become a hollow wind, nothing you could touch, and I floated away into the far reaches of space, never looking back. I saved nothing, so I became nothing.

You learned it was okay to carry only what is yours, and used time as a shed to store away those pretty little words. But I’m not much of a planner, so I never thought about what would happen if you stopped trying to be my tether. The outcome is obvious in hindsight, and it was probably also obvious in the moment, but I didn’t care.

So here I am, and here I am not, and there I was, and there I wasn’t, and I held onto everything as tightly as possible, until I realized that it’s not human hands that hold and support and nurture, but human hearts.

My heart was never that strong to begin with, but it pumped away all the same. It craved love and affection, and wanted to give love and attention. I somehow forgot about that first part, and only focused on the giving. But if all a person does is give, eventually they will be void of everything.

I became void of everything. I expected you to give me your heart in exchange for mine. I was being so unfair…to you, and to myself…So here I am, with nothing but borrowed time and borrowed words and borrowed hearts…and I just want to know where my heart is now, because it’s cold…

It’s so goddamn cold…

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

He took the time between typing shaky lines to peak outside that office window, and wouldn’t you know, it was just wind and snow, but that white somehow felt like a clean slate.

Some people bruise really easily. My Mom is like that; she once just slipped walking up the stairs and her entire forearm was a mess of purple and red. I remember because I was about 9, and seeing that freaked me out. I was crying and screaming and running the the phone, ready to dial 911. But my Mom caught me, and when I looked at her face I saw that she wasn’t really hurt at all.

“It looks worse than it is, trust me. I’m not hurt, I’m just fine, you don’t have to cry. Come on now, Calvin, you weren’t even the one to fall, so stop crying already.”

I had a habit of crying whenever anybody would get hurt, and probably more so when that anybody was me. I hated seeing other people in pain, and I couldn’t handle pain at all. I was a terrible batter because I was scared of getting hit by the pitch. I always backed away as the ball was thrown, and pitchers just gave me outside pitches I couldn’t reach. I refused to watch boxing matches, thinking they were cruel and inhumane and that the people making money off of such events were just monsters. I didn’t find things like guns and swords cool like other boys my age, and I didn’t like roughhousing with other boys my age.  

This didn’t make me a social outcast though, not at all. I was funny and smart, so people always wanted me around. I made studying easy, and never had to wait around for a partner for any projects. It was like that from elementary school through college; I was always the same, reliable guy.

And I got over my aversion to pain. I found that boxing was more an art than a brawl, and saw guns and swords as some of the coolest things in the world thanks to videogames. I overcame my fear of being hit and became a decent baseball player, and I even found out I can rough it out with the best of them, although I was better at taking the hits and not so good at dishing them out.

I also found out I wasn’t like my Mom, I didn’t bruise easily at all. I took plenty of nasty falls during baseball seasons, but it never really showed. I picked up Soccer and backyard football and doing stupid, dangerous stunts on dares. I broke a wrist, ran into a fence and broke my nose, fell out of a slow moving car and lost most of the skin below my right kneecap. But it always seemed like I avoided the worst outcomes, and those things never left me with bruises to stare at in the mirror.

I’m a college grad, living the office life, using my Excel skills to produce some really insightful pivot tables. I play tennis now instead of baseball, but I’m still the funny, smart guy at work. I play video games still, and I watch boxing, and while my Mom hasn’t fallen down any sets of stairs recently, the new dog she convinced my Dad to get is bigger than she is, and while she was out walking him he pulled her down chasing a cat, and she sprained her ankle. Of course she refused to believe it was sprained and avoided the doctors for 3 days, until her ankle was so swollen she couldn’t get her socks on. So not much has changed, even after 18 years.

And wouldn’t you know it, I still don’t bruise easily! Nope, it’s not easy at all! I mean, I can take a hammer to my forearms, day in and day out, and barely be able to move my wrists, but no bruises! I can punch my stomach until I force myself to vomit, but no marks are there to worry about! And while the cuts obviously can’t not leave a mark, they are all located on parts of my body nobody has to see. My upper arms, chest, thighs…well, the point is they don’t have bruises! They take the punches and hammer blows, the backhands and mini-baseball bat like they are nothing, so that’s still the same.

And I still hate watching other people in pain, and I’ll cry about it and wish the world could exist in a state where nobody had to ever feel pain.

And I still can’t handle pain. So I cut and punch and beat and break every inch of my body, day in and day out. Because it doesn’t hurt. And it helps me to forgive myself, just a little bit, and makes this pain so much easier to live with. So I have to keep going. If I let up I know the pain will become to much, and I’ll end up dead. So I have to keep it up.

Someday…this body will give out, and even though I don’t bruise, I know my body isn’t invincible, and it will break. The only question for me is will my body break first, or will this pain drive me to give up sooner? It’s hard to get out of bed every morning, but it used to be hard because of the pain, and now my body is about 10% of the reason why. I wonder how long it will take to get to 50%. Or 75%. Will this pain win out before I get to experience that? What state will my body be in when I finally die?

So, some people bruise easily, but that doesn’t mean they are weak. Some people don’t bruise at all, but they can be the weakest, most pathetic fucking things on this planet, huh?

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

It’s easy to see it in hindsight, but in the moment everything feels so rushed; it’s impossible to tell up from down, or wrong from right..or living from dying..

But I love him…That was always my excuse at the end of every day that summer. Those nights spent awake wishing to be anything but real, the face of a harsh reality was revealed, and every special moment broken.

You felt special because he was yours? People are not possessions. When you do that, you are giving the key to your happiness to somebody else. So what happens when they no longer see you as the sun or moon or stars, but as waste and dust and not even an afterthought?

You break.

And it’s not beautiful, nor poetic. It’s ugly crying alone at 4am, it’s unwashed clothes and sheets and fast food wrappers overflowing from the trash can. It’s cold feet, empty eyes, bubbling guts and bloody vomit. It’s crying to the point where nothing comes out; no tears or sounds, you just can’t exist..And it leaves you missing days from the calendar and regretting everything prior to the here and now, and the here and now is something you want to destroy, and you realize that you are the moment, that you are the here and now, and you need no more tomorrow’s, no more chances, that time is a stupid harlot, a cheating whore, and you want her out of your life..You don’t want life..

That’s the kind of breaking that happens.

It’s not beautiful.

It’s death.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

Your back in Ohio, and I’m backed into another corner.

Will things really be okay, because it feels like we’re breaking

And just leaving things alone means physics will take hold;

An object in motion will stay in motion, so doing nothing is something;

It means accepting that falling apart is as normal for us as breathing.


But I’m not feeling comfortable in this Colorado air,

Open spaces just leave us with more places to scream without an audience

And all of this snow is wasted on unbalanced folk such as we;

I’m not a special snowflake and you can’t stand the shakes.


We could move back to Ohio, rediscover the cities we hate

Perhaps all of the street signs have been replaced

And everyone has up and moved, so nothing is the same

Well, if we came back, new names and neighbors wouldn’t mean a thing.


So where do we go from here, our starting line a broken heart?

I think conventional wisdom would be to break this off,

Empty our minds of the good times and focus solely on the terrible,

Rip that Band-Aid off and move right into the rebound.


Surely forgetting we were ever a thing would be sad,

But if we are sad now, does it matter if we cut a bit more?

It all ends, so end it as it began;

Burning ourselves dry, leaving nothing, leaving nothing.


And so you left me nothing, and I left myself nothing.

And so I am nothing, because you were my everything.

And so you are in Ohio, and I am nowhere at all.

And so you have forgotten, and I am forgetting how to breathe.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

My body is ash, saturated gray, invisible on cloudy days, and blown apart with a single puff of wind.

Now, right now, I cannot focus my eyes. They water in the bright light, damaged by any image aside from the pitch black. My feet are cold under my white and gray socks. I am shaking. I feel sick. I want to run, far away, but find myself captured in a million different social situations. Talking; I can’t do it. My mind draws a blank as my dry mouth fails to produce a word. It’s strange; I fear being alone like this but cannot stand looking at anyone else. A broken mirror, which is what I am. Shattered, unable to find any hint of what I once truly was, only these pieces that could be from anyone, anything…

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

It’s the same dream every night. No matter what I try, my mind can only slip back into one train of thought, down the only path I can’t follow…

It’s so warm here, lying next to her. We are only holding hands, but that is enough to feel her everything. When we are this close I just want her to talk, talk about anything under the Sun and beyond. She’s close enough that the words come out in a whisper, and I feel like I’m not hearing her words so much as inhaling the air she’s pushing between her lips. I never want to leave this moment, because it’s just so Goddamn perfect. We roll over and catch each other’s eyes, and she smiles at me, and I cannot understand how I ever could have lived before her, along with the crushing realization that I won’t be able to live without her…But none of that matters right now, because this is a moment, our moment, and it’s a forever that will never be replaced.