When he stopped me to politely ask me if he could ask me a question I immediately assumed he wanted directions. I guess it was because I was lost heading east on King St about two hours prior. But when he began to explain that he needed $7 to get into a hostel for the night I thought about you. I don’t usually spare change for people on the street but something in his voice struck a nerve. His demeanour wasn’t aggressive or pitiful. He looked like his pride had been shot down so many times, but the necessity to live another day far outweighed another moment of rejection. I told him I only had $2, which I gave to him, mostly because I felt like there was a chance he’d be injecting himself with a dirty needle and I didn’t want to be a big help to that likelihood, and partly because I believed he was telling me the truth.

I dropped the toonie in his hand and he said thank you. I told him to have a nice day.

That man could have been you and right now I wonder so much if it is.

Everything & Anything

Thank you for making the short trip from my FB note, to here. You have no idea how much it took for me to even make this part of me known to you. The feeling is indescribable and something I greatly appreciate. For those of you who didn’t come from my FB note I’ll fill you in on what’s going on. I’ve decided to let loose on my thoughts more than I have before by making this post more personal. I posted a short story in my facebook notes as an intro to this post. I know once you look at it all it seems backwards and maybe a tad extra, but I’m doing it the way that is most comfortable so I encourage you to pull up a chair.

I actually wrote about this person years ago, but I finally decided to post what I wrote only a few weeks ago. I realize that I’m self-censored. Sometimes the things that go on in my head remain there for a while before I even fathom writing it out. When I actually do put it on paper I may still keep it hidden amongst all my other writing because I’m too afraid to let those thoughts become public domain. In keeping with my dream to [get] Out the Box I decided to take fear and run with it, not against it.

So please go to my entry titled “Never Danced with my Father” and you’ll see that he is the “you” I was talking about in my note. It’s a true poem and it has everything to do with my life. Nothing made up. Everything for real. I’ll post the short story (The man in the trench-coat) right now for everyone who came here first.

Take care and enjoy.

Peace.

Everything & Anything

And tears fall like rain water.
And smiles spread like butter.
And heartache pains like a killer.
 
Ignorance breeds neglect.
Love discourages greed.
 
And time flies like shit hitting a fan.
And the dust settles in my stomach.
And life contemplates death.
 
Integrity is mine.
Peace swims in the deepest oceans.
 
And roads break apart.
And hate subsides.
And light opens my eyes.
 
Fear denigrates progress.
Rejection motivates doubt.
 
And I am alive.
And you are alive.
And patience is alive.
 
This is my thesis statement.

Peace.

Poetry

It’s as if the closet is looking back at me laughing, pointing, calling me a coward. Pressure swelling at the hinges dying to break loose and flood my reality with its truths. Everything has been piled in an unorganized fashion into a closet. Not a vault. Vaults require security codes that can make the step between thinking about opening it and actually turning the combo as long a pause as possible. Doors to closets are opened much easier. Probably to the hoarder’s intent. There’s not much holding a closet closed, just a half turn of the knob and all that was kept hidden comes toppling out in one big rush as if the secrets needed oxygen, the air in there being too sparse.

Does that mean the secrets will be more vengeful when allowed out? Will they exaggerate their presence as retaliation for being held back for so long?

All at once what’s concealed settles.

A slight tap from inside breaks the silence. For a moment I am fooled into believing that I can ease the door and permit the years to seep out slowly. For a moment I am tricked into believing that the sweet tapping will smell like molasses thus being gentle with its exit.

I pause.

The tapping gets deeper, and impatient. Resentful and full of spite. The closet starts laughing again. Calling me names that I’ve never owned. The hinges are whistling again. The door knob rattling and the frame buckling under the pressure. The tapping has been replaced by an incessant boom that reverberates my chest.

The closet it there. Waiting. Threatening me. Mocking me. Daring me to come closer. Pulsating inconsistently. Knowing it can be stronger than I am. Knowing the power it holds and the consequences that will result from being set free. It’s toying with me. Whimpering at times to disguise itself as apologetic and non-threatening. Luring me into believing I can have control of its soul if I just open the door and let some light in. Allow new air to circulate and old air to escape.

The closet. It wears a mask of shame and regret.

The closet. It wears a mask of pity and embarrassment, never pride. One of fear and abandonment.

The door knob rattles. Softly this time. The raging battle has been put to rest, my stance unwavering. For now I am the victor. For now.

Everything & Anything